my knuckles, white on the wheel --
i'm sure you don't know i cried on that 26 second drive home, just like i've never told you about the words i say after pressing end. but i have told you about my old bird, and the ink on my one nail, and my favorite scent of candle, and i think those things are more important even if you don't remember them.
my scratching fingertips still carve your name in my sleep and i hope you know the reason i can't speak back is because you sometimes tangle my heartstrings in my throat.
and even though you are as far-off as always.
i'm sure you don't know i cried on that 26 second drive home, just like i've never told you about the words i say after pressing end. but i have told you about my old bird, and the ink on my one nail, and my favorite scent of candle, and i think those things are more important even if you don't remember them.
my scratching fingertips still carve your name in my sleep and i hope you know the reason i can't speak back is because you sometimes tangle my heartstrings in my throat.
and even though you are as far-off as always.
even though your love is as stone-cold smokey as ever.
you are still my moon.
you are still my moon.
i think you may always be.
