I lay in your bed.
I shouldn't have been there.
But still I lay in your bed,
And I found a hair.
Too long to be yours.
Too blonde to be mine.
I'm no longer yours,
But I still wish you were mine.

How bitter sweet to be entwined for one last time.
And for one last dance to the song of our united breath.
How bitter sweet to be given one last chance to shine.
Who'd have known a goodbye could be so welcoming?

Why can't I write when I'm not feeling sad?
My pen only cries when my heart is bleeding.
It's not like happy souls don't have a thing to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

Why can't I write when I'm wearing a smile?
I can only do it with a tear upon my cheek.
It's not like broken souls have any more to say,
But it was ink that got me through those lonely, rainy days.

It's not like I'm not trying when I'm not crying.
It's not like I would rather be in pain.
It's just that I would like to write you something,
To thank you for those dreamy summer days.

Scary yet essential.
I have forgotten how to do it.

She had blue skin,
And so did he.
He kept it hid
And so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through,
Then passed right by
And never knew.

-Shel Silverstein.