in this water, nothing flows.
around these parts, the shallow winds carry traces of me.

i don't want to stay behind. it's too cold back here, by myself.
i don't want to wait up. it's late and i am growing more tired by the passing minute.

behind these walls, boxes of memories i have hidden from you.
maybe i hid them from myself. either way, let's not look.

like a cup of coffee, still too hot to take a sip,
like a familiar song playing in an unfamiliar place,
like when they make an unexpected concession for you
just because they knew you'd be pleasantly surprised. full.  
it feels... well, you know.