Forget-Me-Nots.

I don't want this moment to end,
hold that laugh in, but as it does,
I want it to stop on a sweet note,
like hard candy melting on our tongues.

It is.

It is.

Excitement colored you pink, but
its memory will soon make you blue,
an echo of happiness: 'do you remember
that day, driving on our way home?'

I do.

I do.

It's a childish play, to gamble and
let life win, a toothy smile for every
hit and miss when we're already
so bruised, proud seasoned losers.

I don't want this song to stop,
sleeping through a party for a
better white noise buzz, we've
always known we're better off alone.

Time has always been the enemy,
too much, not enough - anxiety
dripping from every marked day on
a calendar too empty to hang up.

If we separate from what keeps us awake,
we erase what we've been dreaming of,
too many years hypnotized by the same hope,
wouldn't you say we're long overdue?

I would.

You would.

Call it the rule of four: four seconds to
run, four seconds to breathe in - out, and
four seconds to believe we'll be alright;
we'll know what we want before we go back.

Forget me.

Forget me (not).