Let's write a book.
Just you and I.
We can fill it with all of our happiest times.
Our luckiest moments.
You fill the first line with yours,
Then I'll write mine.
Mine is obvious, the moment you came into my life.
Yours is short and unspecific: "The moment he walked into my life."
We spent a lot of time putting life into that book.
And you lied about everything.
About loving me, about wanting me.
You let me go, and you burned our pages.
And all of my love, went up with the paper.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
Let's write a book.
Just you and I.
We can fill it with all of our happiest times.
Our luckiest moments.
You fill the first line with yours,
Then I'll write mine.
Mine is obvious, the moment you came into my life.
Yours is short and unspecific: "The moment he walked into my life."
We spent a lot of time putting life into that book.
And you lied about everything.
About loving me, about wanting me.
You let me go, and you burned our pages.
And all of my love, went up with the paper.