I’m getting tired of writing ones about you.
Maybe this will be the last.
I’m just so sentimental,
I don’t want to let you go.
As a physical person in my life, I know it has to happen. I accept that.
But as my inspiration, I’m not quite ready…
I don’t think I ever told you, did I?
You were the reason
I started writing again.
Something about you,
something about us.
Our storybook romance,
our lack of want for a relationship,
our undeniable chemistry.
It was you.
And it was me.
And it was what we were together.
Years I went without pen to paper, and suddenly,
one night at 4 in the morning,
I just couldn’t stop.
You were the summer,
I was the night.
We were a dream.
Fading fast, like those Florida sunsets,
but oh, how we colored the sky,
and the world around us couldn’t help but watch.
Everyone could see something
as they watched us burn.