| in the middle of a crazy day, it rang. i thought it was a bank - or someone else who wouldn't give up, but no.
he rang ... he who had given up, indeed.
all those years of putting out the strongness, and i could only cry.
his voice, at first so beautiful, then creepingly, scowlingly sweet - like turkish delight -
was resurrected from i've tried to forget.
and now i'm even more convinced these dreams ...
these dreams are something.
that hating you - you, back there - was my hating him.
forgiving you - yeah, over there - was my forgiving him.
and not letting go of you - you, here - is my moving on.
and i have a feeling that when we're finally on that couch,
when your head finally reaches my shoulder,
when i'm finally holding you ...
you'll turn all this i feel nothing into i feel something,
and i'll be the one that cries.
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| when you disappear
they come looking
and that's how you know
who's yours
but you
sweetness
don't ever disappear
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| i couldn't sleep again.
sometime this morning
he died in my sleep.
i tried to scream and wept.
surprisingly i wept.
sometime this morning
i held your baby sister.
so tiny, you'd love her.
she held me 'til my eyes opened.
sing me back to sleep, little man.
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| i read you
and wonder
then understand
the wonder
of being read
|
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| of disappointing and being disappointed
of struggling to forgive and honor
of waiting for, of failing eden
i'm tired.
maybe part of grace
is simply letting go, giving up
not running away again
just sitting still, shutting up
and accepting life after all the red exes, those beautiful exes
accepting less because what's left can still beautiful
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