I lost count of the nights you waste just reconnecting the stars
and retracing the steps you took that led you to where you are now.

You are here, with me.
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and you are here, with me.
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and you are crying,
and you are here, with me.

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and never have I wanted to
dig your flesh so badly, to see if you still had it in you.
To see if you’re still as strong as the woman who
dismembered me that night I saw her crack a smile.
Never have I wanted to fall apart.

But now, you crave for love like the flowers
I carelessly planted in our backyard,
"you’re the worst gardener," you said.

and you were right.

Still, you loved me just the same;
you loved me all too well.
you loved loving more than the gods
loved reminding me to be gentle and kind.

I tried loving you just as much.
I really did.

But now, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning
and you are here with me and you are crying,
like an empty vessel waiting,
wanting to be filled.

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning,
and you are here with me,
and you are crying,
and you are empty,
forgive me.