darling,
i came to tell you that
the days will become longer than our legs and the nights will belong more to laughter than to heavy eyelids.
and we can roast our hearts over the campfire,
but they'll never understand why we fear obscurity more than death.
the stars read our tears and they tell us that wanderlust was always a myth.
and i can tell you that we'll all find polaris eventually
and i can tell you that we'll all find polaris eventually
but you'll know that north may never be the way home,
and i'll know that home is only where the heart is until it gets sick of our indecision.
but it's okay.
it's okay, sweetheart, because we'll go south and southwest.
we'll go to the places that no one cares enough to dream about
because we'll know that they're ours.
we can make new dreams
and create magic in the sand.
it's okay, sweetheart, because we'll go south and southwest.
we'll go to the places that no one cares enough to dream about
because we'll know that they're ours.
we can make new dreams
and create magic in the sand.
we'll paint with our hearts
because we believe in the forgotten.
so let's make our souls out of sea glass
and laugh when they don't understand
because we believe in the forgotten.
so let's make our souls out of sea glass
and laugh when they don't understand
why we call them beautiful.
we've never been decisive about what comes next, but it doesn't matter.
our feet have minds of their own, anyway.
we've never been decisive about what comes next, but it doesn't matter.
our feet have minds of their own, anyway.
and i know.
i know that certainty lies in bed with confusion,
but i know that their skin never touches while the world calls our tongues unstable.
so, ask more questions and get fewer answers.
i'll call it serendipity
because you've always loved simplicity.
and i know it hurts, dear.
i know it hurts,
because i can feel it.
so tell santa claus your desires, because he'll never laugh at the five-year-old's questions
and he'll never get tired of you asking for a bandaid for your heart.
it'll heal, sweetie.
you'll heal,
so, ask more questions and get fewer answers.
i'll call it serendipity
because you've always loved simplicity.
and i know it hurts, dear.
i know it hurts,
because i can feel it.
so tell santa claus your desires, because he'll never laugh at the five-year-old's questions
and he'll never get tired of you asking for a bandaid for your heart.
it'll heal, sweetie.
you'll heal,
because the stars still shine when there are clouds
and your heart still sings when it's broken.
you inhale truth like a child,
and that's okay.
and that's okay.
you only expel CO2 and a wish for the genie you never believed would grant it,
but that's okay, too.
i'm telling you now, because i wish that someone had told me
but that's okay, too.
i'm telling you now, because i wish that someone had told me
that the clouds will never be obsolete
and all you've ever wanted was to fly.
and all you've ever wanted was to fly.
but, love, i'm no romantic,
and dreams are for the peaceful,
so enjoy them for me while you can.
please, please, please,
enjoy them while you can.
--erin
