you weren't wrong.
i'll be frank; you were difficult to love
you were a slow, lento song
a nimble, agile, little dove

i'll be frank; you were the sun in May
when darkness was oppressed
when warmth felt depressing
and love choked itself, dying

you weren't wrong.
you held me at gunpoint and cried
you pushed me an inch closer to the void
you called my name and chose to hide

but i held on,
longing for December rain once more
longing to be human once more
longing for you, and you alone

but you were long gone
a day late, a dollar short, a metre shy
you are glory days,
golden age

you were.