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You: A distant memory
You are at my fingertip,
on my pillow,
in the morning breeze.
where can I hide from all that is you?
Time has taken a toll,
and we are withered,
me, by constant dissociation,
you, by being aloof and absent.
The rough edges...
on my pillow,
in the morning breeze.
where can I hide from all that is you?
Time has taken a toll,
and we are withered,
me, by constant dissociation,
you, by being aloof and absent.
The rough edges...
