Take me back to the white house in the forest. The one that always had the birds sitting on the porch to listen to the melody of your voice. The one that the failing sun always shown brighter on to try and beat your smile. The one where your eyes where the only thing that sparkled. And then I remember that the weeds have grown tall and the sun decided not to shine there anymore. I remember that the paint has chipped and along with it the bird feathers that used to float around. I remember that if I went back to that white house in the forest I'd find nothing but broken promises that you forgot we made. So take me back in time to that white house that your smell attracted the squirrels and, of course, me. Because if I don't go back in time, I'll be surrounded by nothing but the thought of how even the air stopped moving that night when the white house was a smoky blue and your words stabbed knives in my back with each syllable. I'll be surrounded with the reminder that you've left and so did my heart.