Fresh air. Cinnamon rolls.
You're in the front of my mind, and I'm last in line.
And before you read, I promise this is the last time.
Chocolate hair and olive green eyes make a shipwrecked man, coping with the end. And he doesn't want to start over, he doesn't want to pretend. But without making a conscious choice, he let the falling begin.
It would be difficult to put it into words, but he can't describe it any other way. The majority of him misses you every day. He didn't want to leave again, he didn't want to stay. But it was a war against the current for him, and you were there, feeding the flame.
My thoughts swim upstream.
So many people, places to go, and things to do. And this boy just wants to know who he belongs to.
God is always there, but a part of him wants a human to be near to. And he's glad he wrote, because holding it in would have been wrong. But he's getting up there, and it feels like too much time looking; too long, too long. And if he had to make a decision between loving and losing, he would have chosen both, because at least he would have known the feeling.
And trust me. The guy knows his heart is being silly, but he's daydreaming in California, getting closer to finding closure. Still searching, still learning. His heart is still catching up, but he's on the upswing. And things are getting better, thanks to coffee, Owl City, John, and Colbie.
But honesty says you'll be on his mind.
Because the only thing that will tell is time.
Only time. Only time.
- Michael Stephen
No comments:
Post a Comment