your eyes hold my reflection like a mirror in its frame, and. i was going somewhere with this but i have nothing to say. i just want to rant about the way things used to be and the way things could have been. how i hate coming home to an empty bed and how i love waking up with you in it (you are not her, and that's the blessing). these nights are in between their endings and we're driving past esso's thinking of stars, knowing someone filled our hearts with nothin' but your skin between my scars seems to have brought us something. and i'm swimming in the thoughts of you, between paragraphs of novels when the mind wanders beyond the windowsills, feeling lost like a child in a whale's veins, with the heart the size of a house and blood which bleeds gallons. but it's better to be inside the flesh which holds your tumultuous warmth then in the frigid waters like a drowning sailor clinging to timbers (the timbers are metaphors for whatever). and we're all just pennies tossed away like tiny burdens, and they pick us up for little wishes until the next change of heart.
