Hadn't it all been forgotten Between the brooding the bruising and the torn skin tissue What did it even feel like to ride a bike up a hill to deliver soup to the boy with chills your boy That boy who you thought nobody else could be Insist to lay in the arms of others in a state of apathy is it really coming back, I will get hurt and trapped All of these notions rushing in a quick return to help, heal but worst of all heal Knowing what love is, when to say it, if to say it is all a different thing It's a forgotten flavor long lost in an ocean numbed by nicotine and liquor A warm cinnamon bun hot from the oven, tender and brittle perhaps maybe crumbing