The first month was pure bliss,
Sneaking out for a midnight kiss.
Going sightseeing and quite walks
All of the late-night talks.

The second month was a mess,
Felt you loving me less and less.
Falling asleep not to you,
But wishing it was you.

The third month was better,
Like opening an old letter.
The smell of the past coming back,
The smell of a sweet, sweet, lilac.

The fourth month was great,
It all felt like fate.
Spending the nights with you,
Wishing it was no one but you.

The fifth month was yet to come,
The feeling struck me dumb,
Nothing more was to come,
You left me alone in the rain, cold and numb.

My home is not your typical home.
It's not coming home to a home cooked meal,
It's not talking about your day and work,
It's about none of those.

Those have all been long outgrown,
Leaving nothing left to feel,
Yet mystery and caution always lurk
But looking at this "home" it never shows

My home isn't something quite normal,
It isn't even a room with a bed.
It's just you.
Your smell, your presence, your touch.

Although this was never anything formal,
Yet it's managed to fall on me like lead.
And I both hate and love you.
For doing this, and letting me think it were such

Why does it always come back to you?
You were my first, my first love.
My first accident. My first clue.
As soon as we were done you flew like a dove.

I know what we have is no longer
But part of me wishes to always hold you,
Even though you were never truly mine to hold.
If anything, this has made me stronger.
But it makes me feel all so blue
And my room is forever cold,
Because I don't have you to hold.

But now that you are leaving,
I hope I will be able to see
Through all this fog, through all this mist.
Part of me still wants to cling
Onto the broken memories of what once was, I'm not ready to set you free.
Not ready to let you go, for I know there's so much that I've missed.

Head hurts, ears ringing.
Ghosts of my past leave my eyes stinging.

Headaches brought on by heartaches,
Oh, how my heart aches for you.
For ghosts of you, the memories of the past.
You may have been my first,
But I won't let you be my last.

Sleepless nights spent trying to figure out
What I could've done, how it all went so fast.
I knew I loved you, without a doubt,
And I always thought you felt the same as I.

And there you left me alone to cry,
A broken ankle and a broken heart.
You threw one of Cupid's darts,
And hit me right in the bullseye.

Cracks are everywhere, in the street,
In windshields and a sidewalk's concrete.
Most people look over them,
Not thinking of what caused them.

But there are more than just those cracks,
There are cracks in people's skin,
Visible, showing off all their sin.
There are cracks in people's minds,
Invisible, showing off all sorts of kinds
Of mistakes, all of what humankind lacks.

There are cracks in people's hearts,
Piercing their soulds like darts.
There are cracks in their homes,
Breaking what once was ideal,
Into something that only groans,
Something unable to feel.

Cracks are not our doing,
But the doing of our sin.
The consequences of being greedy,
Leaving us on the floor bleeding
Wishing that it were never to begin.