how you're the light over me.
Memories have become something else altogether and I can't see them for what they were any longer. I wonder if that's a bad thing.
I can't quite shake this love of a poet I once imagined. He was everything I'd never had and now he's merely everything I'll never have. I hope I never see such a boy in my life again. He wasn't himself when we met. He was what I saw perched upon the pedestal, waiting for my bow to aim and my arrow to take down as my own. Needless to say, that shaft never flew past his ear. It never left the string. I'm glad. Content. Perhaps I could say I am happy now. Happy that this memory is nothing but. Happy that this heart in here is starting to grow some skin to cover it and become mine at last.
It's important to win yourself over. Who needs the dark and lonely blank of space when you're a sun of your own? Not you, because you belong to your light. I accuse the world of being self-centred, but maybe sometimes that's all you can be to live in it.
It's important to win yourself over. Who needs the dark and lonely blank of space when you're a sun of your own? Not you, because you belong to your light. I accuse the world of being self-centred, but maybe sometimes that's all you can be to live in it.