I'm autumn, you're spring.
Yet different, very different and so far away,
no matter what, one loved another unconditionally.
And my heart says what my heart wants ó
as you once said love never changes, that only people do.
And sometimes I feel like so little has changed for you
and even less has changed for me,
and I can't think of anything else we could possibly do.
Do you remember the dream?
I remember the dream.
I painted your body pastels of red and blue and gray.
And I kissed you untill the morning,
untill there was a a forest of fire and colors and trees.
Home, the place we slept; where you were the last thought in my head
and the first to wake in me.
You are everywhere,
in the headlights and the trees that slowly swing.
I was looking for some closure
seeking warmth you used to bring.
And Iím doing just fine, yeah.
Iím doing just okay.
But there is so much sadness inside these brick houses.
I wish they made them clay.
We still have our mash potato castle,
way up there in the sky.
And I often ask myself, how are you feeling now?
Tell me, just between you and I.
And, yes, Iím doing just fine, yeah.
Iím doing a-okay.
I fix my own dinner, tuck myself in ó
and Iím sure to stay out of your way.
How do you forget to remember and remember to forget?
everywhere I turn to
is a new memory inside a old wrap.
And I just want to burn this town,
every person who has your eyes.
Iím terrified of strawberries
because I know theyíre just what you liked.
I can't finish a meal without turning on the TV.
I can't sleep without the light.
I can't walk down a road without tripping
because I think of things like
"Are you sleeping well at night?"
Iím getting by, yeah.
Iím doing just fine.
But sometimes I stop to think
how clocks can move so easily through time?
Not a second thought to their hands moving,
whisking right through the wind.
"Are you eating all your meals like youíre supposed to?"
I speak of light memories,
and my words are now going away ó
but I cannot forget the adverbs,
can't help but flinch at the sound of your name.
You still are, to me, quite beautiful when you sleep.
I have littered the floor with sketches of your smile,
and smeared the paint over the sink.
I can feel my clothes walking away from me,
tired of laying on the ground.
One day my shirt said to me,
"Don't put me in any place I could be found."
So I guess I have nothing,
and nothing has changed.
I'm more than homesick,
remembering the way you used to say my name.
And Iíve been working on a few projects
which are more give than take ó
but Iíve been sleeping in most mornings,
because I don't like to stay awake.
Iím not sorry,
I'm not fine,
and Iím not forgetting to forget.
Iíve tucked you in corners of my head and chest,
that someties ache and shriek and fret.
If I could move without a second thought,
Iíd crawl through this dirt and its worms ó
but I can not.
There is a red car parked down the road from me,
and it hurts to breathe the color in.
Do you miss me even a little,
do you ever think of what we did?
I can't get used to this in any way,
so I just close my eyes and sigh.
My desk and chair still remember you
and they tell me you aren't sleeping well at night.