Well maybe there's more definition these days but that doesn't make things more definite.
Because I've been struggling to put this into words and its only been one year, four months and eighteen days.
And as I watch the fictional us play upon large screens, a slice of me it melts. I know it's gone forever.
I suppose I'm ok with that because that's the only option I have. And they made it work with feelings and words. I think that's where we went wrong.
Numbers and graphs, well there's something more explicit about them, more clear cut. But they were never the basis of romance novels and passion. I never heard a Shakespearian sonnet about fractions. Did you?
Your hand grazed mine once. Oh and the metamorphosis inside me, I finally understood how a caterpillar feels when it is no longer ugly but a beautiful butterfly. They were all flying around inside my stomach, one got free and it pounded hard against my chest...
I think its best we leave it here. I told you I was no good with words.
There's not a day when I don't wake up and think of you.
