how strange it was
to feel weeks pass,
drift long away
through rivers of glass.
chinks of their touching
taunt me everyday,
june is long gone
why did she stray?
you fool of a boy,
this shouldn't be a question,
she was the heat
that on hearts was an impression.
i knew this fairly,
seeing you laugh like you never did,
gripped and twisted my insides
just a well as you hid.
oh, but to see you
arm in arm with him,
i couldn't make myself seethe
for i knew i was dim.
and, dear, neither could i wish
that you were happy nor miserable,
only that when you were with me,
you made my months quite memorable.
please, stranger of hers,
never love her the way i had;
from afar with sad eyes
and a heart of a nomad.
please, stranger of hers,
tell her that you're there;
that you're attention is hers,
that break her you wouldn't dare.
but that was two summers ago
of me standing alone,
and i've poured out my heart
and this is what i've shown.
for i knew a girl
and she was worth writing about;
summer was she, gone was i,
and it was of love we fell in and out.
she always said
you have a talent for sadness,
she just didn't know
she'd become part of the madness.
and she always said
someday i'Il be in your pages,
and so here you are,
but it took too many ages.
luke