Straight out of a book, her life crafts pages
The lover who waits until the leaves fall off the trees
and all the people go home, leaving the streets as empty
as the box buried under her porch with all the places
she's never been
Why does the sky spell your name once the candle's burnt out
and lust becomes a taunting game?
The shallow part of the soul has a hole in it
and every time I try to mend it, it gets bigger
Bigger like the stories of love that fill her head
A romance that dances with the stars but will leave you
as fast as the wind will blow that plastic bag into the sky
When you touch fire, the burn never disappears
She will though
Off to the next novel with different storylines but similar endings
Off to the next heart she can dive into and tell a story about the girl
who was looking for something deeper
Something that's worth keeping you awake at night
Something, at one point, I thought we had
My chapter was different though, I believe
My burn never healed
and the years dripped away until our worlds were striped of paint
and all of life was brushed up and tossed into that box under her porch, with just enough space to add something more
I hear a whisper in the wind telling me the depths of life is
consumed by a portrait that doesn't exist yet
and time is only relevant to those who aren't searching deeper
I hear you
and feel your heart
pounding under the silence left in me from the night I realized you
weren't coming home
and my love was kept in a glass heart that she now uses to keep her books straight
Though every once in awhile, you hold it and think of the boy
who's heart was just enough to last until the end
To last until you closed the book and start writing again