i still can't write when i think of you
my mind becomes clouded with scenes of the rearview
and of your freckles, too
and hidden hazel curls tucked beneath that dusty wollen brim
oh, how i long to be the feather so lucky as to live above it
but sometimes we feel things
that can never be taken back
not for a refund
and certainly not for exchange
sometimes our hearts know more than our heads ever could
and your pulse should no longer be on the tip of my tounge
or the wheeze in my lungs
though i'm starting to think that you'll always be
four years of scribbling nonsense
and you're still the well that my pen tirelessly drinks from
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
i still can't write when i think of you
my mind becomes clouded with scenes of the rearview
and of your freckles, too
and hidden hazel curls tucked beneath that dusty wollen brim
oh, how i long to be the feather so lucky as to live above it
but sometimes we feel things
that can never be taken back
not for a refund
and certainly not for exchange
sometimes our hearts know more than our heads ever could
and your pulse should no longer be on the tip of my tounge
or the wheeze in my lungs
though i'm starting to think that you'll always be
four years of scribbling nonsense
and you're still the well that my pen tirelessly drinks from
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