Things aren't always black and white.
Actally, almost never.
There's more to you,
Then meets the eye.
More to me, then the gold hair,
Whispering to you,
Through the wind.
I belive,
That sometimes,
I'm too much.
Too
Much
L
o
v
e
I've only got a year
Let me,
And I'll let you.
it was barely audible
yet soft and sure
in the heat of the moment.
what?
I ask
even though I know what you said.
I know the weight
and the feeling
tall
and ghostly pale
as if he were drenched in sheer silk
was what I saw when he left the room,
leaving behind footprints of moonlight in the halls.
cool as a winter breeze
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