A walk up the mountain to meet the man, open my bottle of grain, release the sand.
Never been to the shores but always seeing the shoreline. Tapping my shoulder saying ”All the riches in the world cant feed a poor mind”. Thank you for bringing me what my eyes have seen but hands not felt, you’re kind.
Information so ambiguous, open for interpretation. Contiguous conversations, building better relations.
Putting two and two together, like that’s the whole picture. When it first takes one and one to make two, go figure. But it wasn’t numbers that made you.
Letter and numbers are made because man had a will to perceive the reality around us to achieve, what the mind believe is true.
So many colors in life then why feeling blue?
Could you be, could you be love? Could you be hugged?
Released from the entanglement, bring the sound of your heartbeat along after i sampled it, and feast on the abandonment.
Words like drugs and I felt them kick in. Gave them a moment to sink in.
Not making sense don’t make me senseless. What’s up with all these defenses? Why is your past my present references?
Leaving with a good example, still leaves me leaving. When I’m gone, then I’m on.
I know that we hate this, leaving with a playlist cause songs sometimes tell our story better, being creative.
Put it on the wall. Nailed it. As time change so do we, shapeshift.
We were destined for greatness, but now we walk by the pavement, feeling like a vagrant hoping for an escapement. Want to be together but looking for replacement. Ending up with the same shit. Like life’s making a statement.
Afraid of going back to square one, to be seen wearing that old robe, but this time we wear none. All we’re bringing is that old hope.
Naked, like the truth, knowing whats real and no need for the proof.
So let us goof around, like using lettuce as a crown. Release the ocean of lust even if we drown, knowing that we’re down.
Make belief if we have to, to let us feel that sound, take-receive cause we want to, cause we really feel that we’re bound.
four-thirty in the morning, mirrored spark. Can’t remember last time we pillow talked. Only when I talked to the pillow.
Yeah, laugh at it. But we can’t quit this, like it’s a bad habit. Spellbound for the moment, Mad magic.
And then what? Living with change but afraid to spend us. Like we’re on our last nickel and dime. Can’t be fickle and try.
And all this ”Speaking my mind” makes us grow apart, cause what we should have done from the start was to speak from the heart.
See we don’t always listen to understand, but we listen to reply.
And things don’t always work as we planned, but we can always retry.
And if we really believe that we can, then all we need is to apply, that little will that we have that will change a goodbye to a hi.
Hi, It’s been a while.