The breeze too quickly left me cold.
Like leaves we changed and dyed.
The fear of winter made me fall,
But his silence left me frozen.
He left me questioning if I could breathe
Because I couldn’t see my breath.
Constant shivering, the air was cold
But it turns out my breath was colder.
The lights blew out with the wind, and the pages all over the room.
Always chasing after them, afraid to lose even one
And I am left to put back the story, in the dark without a c(l)ue.
A flickering match, and I remembered,
That all of these pages where blank.
He always wrote in pencil-
Dirty habits were easier to erase.
But blank pages told his stories, and the truth behind his lies,
And even though he had erased, an imprint still was there.
I ran my fingers on engravings, feeling (e)very(thing) forgotten.
And yes, for him it was forgotten, it wasn't there to see.
And he just wouldn't feel, and I just can't let go.
