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.
you.
you're a golden boy
born to shine in the sun,
but cast to the dark of night,
drenched in moonlight.
you change like the times when you see me,
my hands curl around the flimsy plastic folds of my shopping bag
as I walk home through streets tight and winding.
it is a sunny morning,
crisp and clear,
and magic.
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