I don't know who 'you' is supposed to be, or 'me' for that matter

the wind keeps telling me secrets that you're not willing to share
my pockets are full of pebbles so I won't lose my way
cause your words are so well-placed and layed out so carefully
but they're all empty

my mouth is filled up with cotton each time I see your eyes
_________________________________________________



the sparks beneath your eyelids were a sure fire sign you were alive and well, or at least alive. the way your voice bent when you
said, 'I'll stay,
but I'll take the couch;
you take the bed.'
I knew from the angles in your voice that this was doomed,
as right as rain,
as sure as winter turns to spring.
but it's all okay.
we're built to be broken
and a moment is all perfection can hope for anyway.
we're still here and I'm still
in this bed alone
and you're still on the couch
convincing yourself that's where
you should be.