you give me hope that there’s a god up there;
strings of fate sewn to hold us together.
long nights, car rides, loud fights, and tangled hair,
losing ourselves always and forever.
cursorial hearts destined for failure,
fueling other’s love with tales of our own.
time, width, or length is not any measure;
held together with the cord of the phone.
irony always was my favorite part:
"fear not until wood comes to dunsinane",
only as if the castle was my heart,
and the forest was the sound of your name.
it is crazy that even after days
the thoughts of you never do seem to change.