I thought a place somewhere comfortable, maybe my bed, would shelter me. And at the time, it didn’t make sense that when I left the world, it should come with me. That’s what I thought music was supposed to do. Maybe that’s where I’d stay safe. To forget about you would have been the purpose.
Even though neither of us knew where the bark ended, the crooked crevices didn’t see us anymore. We’d forgotten - no, not forgotten - misunderstood what the dark sky had meant between us. We always thought the rain whispered trinkets of love, but we were so wrong. Trinkets would have been possessed.
You never thought that’d be okay, though, did you? The distance always seemed wrong. Too messed up, too lonesome. Heck, if I’d known. Just wrong.
If you're still here, your work isn't done. Your purpose has yet to be met.
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