And if  I were being honest with myself,
I'd say how much I miss him,
Draw his fingers on my notebook.

If I were feeling brave enough,
I'd tell you about the colour of his bare skin,
tell you how beautiful he was when the light poured in.

If I could bear to think about it,
I'd crawl through the spaces in my head, where love leaked in,
And stay a while.

If I were being honest with myself,
I'd admit how
I was actually on the brink
of giving him my love

or


that i did.

I'd paint his picture,
late at night in my room
he sitting in the sunlight facing me like god.

But --

I'm working a lot these days, trying to save for a car,
and there's no time for this sadness,
or so i tell myself.


and I'm filling my nights with grey smoke
and big groups of people,

or quiet reading.

And if i were being honest with myself,
beyond the layers of love,
I'd tell you about how underneath,
there is a tired heart,
and how it's little rivers of gold

are slowly fading.