i'll keep a compass tattooed on my
forearm so that i'll always know how to
find my way home, and if that needle points to you
when we settle for the night,

i won't question it.

i'd sketch you in charcoal,
then paint your eyes in with
watercolours

(i'm no van gogh, but it
would be hard to make you look
anything less that
gorgeous)

i thought your memory would
weigh me down, but it turned out to be
an anchor; i've never felt more
close to you than i do now
(and with this weight i'm clinging to
it's like you never left)

i've become the person i wanted to be
two years ago, but i've forgotten
why i wanted to be this way in the first place

(it's time to reconstruct myself again)

i wouldn't mind if
for the rest of my life
i never saw anything
other than
ocean.

the most honest i've ever been was with the boy
who lied to everybody else but me; i told him that
i didn't know why i trusted him but i didn't mind if he
never wanted to let go of my hand, that as long as he held on
i'd keep on talking, that all i wanted to be was an
astronaut so i could write first hand-accounts
of the stars, that i imagined creating a new name for myself
every time i woke up so that i wouldn't have to live with my
past, that i didn't know the difference between love and
fear or if there was even a difference at all

in return, he told me a truth that only he believed in
(you're perfect, i swear it)

from then on, i choked on every truth i tried to say, so i ran away
and that night i whispered to the dark over and over again
to convince myself i'd be ready the next time somebody dared me to say it
(i'mscared, i'mscared, i'mscared, i'msorry, iloveyou, i'mscared)

when he asks if you're in
love with him,
*lie