#103
I’ve grown fond of the numbers.
103 beats per minute, the rhythm of that song
you played for me once, and then twice,
until it lived in my head the way you do.
103 beats per minute,
the tempo of my pulse
when your voice pulls my name into the air,
when you look at me like I’m something
worth looking at.
103 steps per minute,
the pace of your walk,
a tempo I fall into instinctively,
because side by side is where I want to be.
103, like a secret language,
like an equation only we understand.
1 phrase, 0 doubts, 3 words,
a calculation that always adds up.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 4:49 AM UTC
In a pitch-black world
Anything goes
No telling where the wind will blow
In a pitch-black world
Anything goed
In the dead of night
Strange things happen in the dead of night
When the lights go out
All around
And the whispers fill the air
In the dead of night
Better hold on tight
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 2:57 AM UTC