And your touch was oceans, I was drowning at the thought of being without your fingers in my hair.
I knew from the tone in your voice you'd leave eventually but I grabbed your hand and somehow, I thought that'd make you succumb to me.
You were 4 a.m skies and every reason to say goodbye, but how could I form those words if you made me forget how to speak.
I could tell you every color in your eyes and the every story told from the scars across your knuckles.
You couldn't look me in the eyes, you couldn't bear the thought of emotion on your back.
Coward.
Where was your hand when I was drowning?