Tonight, I write to the tune of splashing water.
The vision of fireflies blinking.
The sound of your smile.
The sparkle in your storm cloud eyes.
Tonight, I write to the tune of a memory.
I fall right through again, like I knew I always would.
And it's not your fault I cry at 1am.
It's not your fault I forget to eat.
It's not your fault I write till dawn.
You never asked to be poetry.
But here I am again, jotting down smooth words I'll never share.
Describing you in the most beautiful way I know how.
This is the closest I can be to you,
When I am not with you.
So summer begins Friday,
And Friday always comes.
And it'll be you or me. But it'll always end with none.
But that is your fault.
I'll be here to tell of white sheets in 17
Of the way you stared at me yesterday.
To remember the way you smell, the way you laugh.
And if you don't come back Friday,
It's your fault.
It's my fault that I'll stay here.
And I'll never leave.
Because just when I'm free, you smile.
You stare.
Yesterday is not today, although I wish it were.
The memories were ages ago, I still cry.
And I'll never know what Friday brings.
This is just the way I see things.
