I’m drowning and you’re standing on the cliff edge describing the ripples.
I wrote this when I was probably at my lowest, and my friends would always be like 'oh you look so down, so tired, so fed up' instead of trying to give me the help I needed.
I’m sorry, I don't mean to flinch - it's just… his hands never had such a sweet touch like yours. And please don't stop singing sweet nothing's, for I am so used to 'you're nothing's
I honestly don’t believe in whole lot. But, I believe the words you whisper in my ear, I believe in your touch, and I believe in you. For once in my life, I’m certain that I believe in us, too
I'm not too good at opening up to people; but I have made a home in you: the crease underneath your shoulder is the only pillow I think I'll ever need, your eyes are the windows in which I wish to see the world through, and the rumble of your laughter is an earthquake that cannot tear these foundations to the ground. Like the weeds in the garden, I am rooted to you. I hope you never dig me out.