Lying awake in the morning
golden hour seeps across the room
as I'm thinking out loud
wondering why I can't speak your name,
it's as if I only fell for the idea of you,
so, all I can do is to let it all fade,
along with the clouds that never wanted to stay.
My chest tightens every time you are around,
making it harder to breathe,
forcing me to shutdown
cause I can't get over the what ifs,
or I'll just look like a clown,
which is the last thing I want.
It sucks to even speak sometimes
cause it feels like I'm about to blast off,
throw up this realization
that I fell for the idea of you,
an image contorted to fit this version
that sits in my head,
now, it's time to sing to the golden hour of night,
and see you tomorrow.