parking my sentiments
in the back of your mind,
a passenger mode in your life
a bit so you don't screw up
or maybe because
you like my company
better than the others

your words feel like paper,
smooth unlike my grating words
that stumble upon themselves
absentmindedly staring
at the overcast night.

a grenade-like dream in my hand
waiting to explode
familiar like marked territory
yet unfamiliar like a burnt hole in a cloth
i never noticed.

i loved nights on the roof at my place
when you claimed insomnia
and we pretended to count stars
when there weren't any

it feels like a lifetime
when i'm with youand the sky
swishing her passing comments
about how arrogant we are
and how we should never
ever grow up.