I grew up so much on your bedroom floor
With our backs to the carpet, we’d lay there and listen to Muse and talk about *******.
Nothing matters when you’re 11 years old, it’s just cartoons and sugar and whatever darkness grows behind closed doors, but those doors are closed
And I thought I kept my shadows out in the hallway where they couldn’t catch us playing make believe in your pool.
I thought it’s too bright outside for dark things
And we were far too fast on our bikes,
And it was far too high when we’d hike
And the Arizona summers would protect us.
I guess the dark things got in when we’d sleep,
Maybe you could smell the cold on me,
Something slipped in through the cracks and ****** things over.
I miss sleeping in your basement, I miss living in your back pocket, and I miss thinking of your name without trying not to cry.
You are so ingrained in me, but you want nothing to do with me, and that place can never exist for us again.
It’s a terrible thing to wrap my head around.
We could be laughing in your kitchen with some horrible concoction that’ll keep us up to watch the sunrise again,
But I’m just left to wonder where you’ve been.
I know you’re smart, I hope you’re happy, I hope you have a new best friend,
I hope they grow with you and learn from you, and I hope you do with them.
I hope you think of me, but not too much, I think dwelling would be sad.
I hope you forgive whatever I did wrong and look back fondly on what we had.