When my walls come crashing down,
and the emotions I hide come out,
I find myself thinking of him.
Thinking of the his eyes,
which always shown with the bluest blue,
bluer than the sky on a clear summer day.
Thinking of his laugh,
soft and gentle like a warm jacket
on a cold winter day.
I think about his voice,
always sweet, yet sharp,
like a fresh lemonade.
I think about the hours we spent together,
watching old movies at the drive though,
stargazing by the old willow tree.
I remember the way he talked,
as he pointed out the constellations,
it seemed as if his soul was smiling too.
Sometimes, I think I still see him,
parking his bike by the corner store,
or sitting with his feet dangling at the town docks.
But he’s never there,
it’s only ever a trick of the light,
or a cruel joke of my own imagination.
Because he’s gone,
all of him is gone,
and I can only hope he’s in a better place now.
and the emotions I hide come out,
I find myself thinking of him.
Thinking of the his eyes,
which always shown with the bluest blue,
bluer than the sky on a clear summer day.
Thinking of his laugh,
soft and gentle like a warm jacket
on a cold winter day.
I think about his voice,
always sweet, yet sharp,
like a fresh lemonade.
I think about the hours we spent together,
watching old movies at the drive though,
stargazing by the old willow tree.
I remember the way he talked,
as he pointed out the constellations,
it seemed as if his soul was smiling too.
Sometimes, I think I still see him,
parking his bike by the corner store,
or sitting with his feet dangling at the town docks.
But he’s never there,
it’s only ever a trick of the light,
or a cruel joke of my own imagination.
Because he’s gone,
all of him is gone,
and I can only hope he’s in a better place now.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.