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Self-Addressed, Meant For You
I'm still cold, lying here beneath these sheets;
my eyes are cold, my heart is cold, my hands are cold.
I'm nothing special, and you're just a memory.
And I miss you.
I used to think I had grown, that somehow I felt things
no one else could grasp;
but I'm only beginning to taste what so many already understand,
what bites at their ankles as they run from
the bittersweet wrath of reality.
9,360 breaths since I last saw you, and it still hurts,
everything aches and trembles knowing I can never get those back
or relive them with you, through you.
There will never be that sense of belonging or feeling of
completeness; it's all lost, carried away on the autumn breeze.
I lose a part of you, as well as myself, everytime I
exhale; so I hold my breath and try to keep you
as long as possible.
We just can't get it back, can we?
I sit here, thinking of you, wondering if you're thinking
of me - but I know you're not; it's easier to forget.
And now I'm all alone, and these words -
they're all for you.
