a house of four thousand rooms
with no TVs and where we couldn't get lost.
I went up to you in light, like one approaches the altar,
seeking out forgiveness.
funny thing is I have nothing to be forgiven about.
but it wasn't what I found–
fate met me with an open hand, a palm stretched out, facing upwards,
a shy and sly look, a smirk,
a you already know this, I don't know why I'm telling you this
and you shook your head and it was all gone. you brushed it
seeking out forgiveness.
funny thing is I have nothing to be forgiven about.
but it wasn't what I found–
fate met me with an open hand, a palm stretched out, facing upwards,
a shy and sly look, a smirk,
a you already know this, I don't know why I'm telling you this
and you shook your head and it was all gone. you brushed it
off like it was nothing more than a mixup, something you tell a friend,
a confidante, someone stronger, someone less committed. I just listened.
I couldn't sleep! I was so excited: I finally felt free. and then,
there's no more silence.
there was no need to talk, nothing to say,
nothing to discuss about because there was just nothing:
no awkwardness, no stalling, no hurt. you didn't try to hurt me, this time.
I can't pretend I want to be forgotten.
and when I confessed to my favorite songs,
you played them for me,
in a whisper, in the farthest corner of the kitchen,
you played them for me,
in a whisper, in the farthest corner of the kitchen,
I think I knew. I think I did.