How much of the reason I’m still alive resides in the inability to write a note
I loved you once
I have the photos to prove it
Though how much can you trust the opinion of a photo when you were told to smile
Maybe I never did
The pearlescent lilac clouds echo into my room
A small forest of summer green waving through my window
The crisp, cool air rushes with cars down the road
Happy houses beam with pride glancing over the view of another Sunday morning
Bright canary pillows and quirky mugs bought by distant friends
My mood trespasses with discomfort
