I love the you that you are when you are alone,
The you that you are when you’re at home,
When you look with soft eyes at the cat,
The you that you are when you step onto the doormat.
I’ll act like it’s the end.
As if it’s the last time I’ll speak to you.
I’ll write down each thing you say.
I’ll keep every circus ticket in a little book.
Hello, Miss Bleary Eyes,
Are you still searching for those long lost spies?
I never took you for the type to spend that much time,
On things like me, on twisted minds.
You wanted a life update, well here I am.
Up late wondering, pondering, what makes a man.
Get up twice as early, bleary frosted sun,
A tik-tok silence stuck in the head, you know, it means more to some.
The graveyard helper passes from moment to moment.
Maybe he ran away from home.
Maybe he really believed in the “small acts of kindness” lesson back in 1st grade.
Maybe he went through something so sad he changed.
Grief doesn’t make any sense unless you’re in it.
It’s weird when someone’s there and then they’re not.
There’s a pause, and then it hits, and then you pause, and then it hits.