More often than not I find myself looking through space like there's something there for me to reach for
But you see ghosts are just the dead trying to fit their way back into our lives when they no longer can
And whispers only travel so far before they become hush hums in the winds you blow
I'd give anything to be able to share it with you and have you see past what you let yourself believe
But dandelions fly too far sometimes and they don't really ever find their way back even on the expressway
I only really wear the bracelets I bought to hide the secret lines I write at 3am on the bathroom floor
And you don't watch or look out for the silent flinches when someone grabs my forearm
Neither do you question the tearstains on my pillow when you come over never
So when I'm reaching into the vast amount of nothingness for something to keep me from breaking
I hardly ever come across anything that will help because you can hardly mend broken things that are still cracking at the edges and crumbling into dust