i am consumed by fogged up car windows and memories i can't escape from. i'm made of the remnants of a perfect summer, a perfect love that was maybe never love, that was maybe not perfect but it sure as hell seemed to be. maybe it was only so perfect because it was gone so fast. there's no getting us back now. five minutes in a dark room and you could make me yours again. if only you would try.
i'm just words you puffed out like cigarette smoke, dissipating in a moment like vapor in the air, like i'm nothing at all. your hands are on my hips and it feels like i'm dying, but i'm just dying to live for you. keep living, keep loving, but maybe love is just slowly dying inside 'til your organs stop working and the words stop coming and the songs don't sound like they used to because suddenly they were all about you. every word i've ever written was for you. you took what you wanted from me but i guess it was never enough. falling asleep as i write these words, poems by my callused fingers that touched the bass you used to play, the bass you used to love. anything to touch something you once loved. since i wasn't something you loved. i was just an idea. you wanted me for a summer, then you wised up and lost touch. i gave in or maybe i just gave up. we'll never know now.
