-A note for my coaches-

It's a curse of my generation, I think
I'm better off talking to you in letters made of light
than in songs made of sounds
Because at least then I can be proofread

What do people even say to each other in person?
Even with friends, I can't remember a conversation
I had today or yesterday, never mind far off in the past
I must've talked about the weather, or my next test
Or something else of equally little substance
So my brain must have just catalogued it all as discard and thrown it out

I try to imagine the future
Meeting you at a coffee shop in the city
I'm home from college for a weekend
And we'll have to talk about something

About the past, about the people I left there?
About where we're going, what we've been up to?
About politics, the weather, the news?

I can't ever think beyond that
Because even in my head, no words make it past my parted lips
But if I could, this is what I would tell you


The darkness is all around me right now
I'm trying not to let anyone else see it
But I know you've been here before
And I think you'd understand
If I told you that I'm doing my best to keep the candles lit
*Please don't let me slip out of your life