My longues panick the moment my brains project the memories of you on the inside of my eyes.
And I could spend the rest of my life thinking about your choices but never making mine.

You were gorgeous in the summer with your hair dark and your stronger growing love for me.
And you were destructive and ice cold when winter started and you decided to choose honesty.

Seven months went by and little changed because still nobody knows how to trigger me like you.
They are flashlights and candles and torches and some of them stars, but lover you were the moon.