you carved our names into a tree as the sun took its final bow and turned everything it could reach golden and warm.
I thought to myself "these are the kind of moments that people write about".
but you see, the bark of that old willow tree was the lining of my heart,
and the stone you used to so carefully etch our initials was just a handful of promises you never intended to keep.
so I guess after all, at least I was right. these are the kind of moments that people write about, but never for the reasons we first expect.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
you carved our names into a tree as the sun took its final bow and turned everything it could reach golden and warm.
I thought to myself "these are the kind of moments that people write about".
but you see, the bark of that old willow tree was the lining of my heart,
and the stone you used to so carefully etch our initials was just a handful of promises you never intended to keep.
so I guess after all, at least I was right. these are the kind of moments that people write about, but never for the reasons we first expect.
