We stayed up late that starry night
Correcting things that I had done
You laughed and cried with all your might
I hoped to never see the sun

It rose out there, and stood so clear
I laid there, whispered in your ear
We were meant to be together
These things happen so we can better
Every aspect of our young, lost lives

You said to me that one big thing
I was too afraid to say that night
You said if we were meant to be
I would not have paltered or lied

Whirling, whisping, talking, hissing
It whispers to me with harsh, cold lips
It hints with smooth, sharp statements
Long, drawn out tales of romance

It speaks to me, telling me where it has been
Stories of travel, love, and despair
It speaks to me, the wind, but I do not understand
I know to care, so I listen further

Through this cluttered conversation
She tells me where she is and what she wants
Where she has been weathers me
Whipped, waned, and windspent

It is not even light out
But I dread the day to come
I dread all days to come
They mean nothing to me now

Who was once my light?
My soul and life
The reason I wake
Now the reason I ache

The reason I sleep
When it is light out.
It is not light out
But I dread all the days to come.

In we prance, kingly versions of ourselves.
Nothing to dwell upon besides self,
I am frightened—
Comfortable in the awkward sociality.

I fear the end.
Yet, the start is always excruciating.
Once over the climb toward conversation,
The continuation is admired

This cycle does nothing.
The affluent believe they are better,
The others place great trust in “humility,” but lack humbleness.
These are the two groups of which we do not belong

By the end, there I hang,
Wishing to be forgotten by all instead of many.
Consumed by my own worries
No better than the ones I am leaving.