you should always want to greet the sunrise with me.
so she presumes with crooked frowning lips,
furrowed brows and eyes that are always so serious.
but give it a minute, or three, or five.
and she'll realise that she's hit the very same
stumbling block that she's grown accustomed to falling over.
sharing is hard, leaving is harder.
space is the strangest foreign concept,
for you fill the whole world with brightness.
the wind takes the candleflames when it's time to say goodbye
and all that's left is the lingering scent of candlewax and smoke,
in the air and on her skin, in her sheets and on her tongue. (you were there)
this mysterious concept called falling being in love
if you look at it askance, or tilt your head slightly to the left,
is almost very nearly like jumping off a skyscraper.
your head tells you that this is the baddest bad idea you've ever
had the misfortune of having and then,
your heart tells you that it's all going to be okay
you can fly.
she's always afraid of asking him to stay, in case it slowly starts to melt those candlewax wings.