I am writing you the story of you.
A story that I do not know, but that knows you well.
A time where the future meets the past.
Where hope lives outside our dreams.
The one thing that have desire but does not try to please.
This is the story I am writing, a tale that is not real.
A story that is all within, and dreams from rooms across the sea.
This will go down in history, as one would hope.
This is my writing that I am giving you.
A piece that will not make you happy.
It will make the heart do what it does best.
It will beat, but mine will simply stop.
That is the story I want to tell.
I saw something today.
It was a ray of light hiding behind the grass.
Feeding off the vibes from the falling rain.
It did not speak, but words were said.
The sounds of the earth ratting through the pain.
Giving the light a new meaning to its name.
Time is moving on and on, but the love is lingering.
Will it fade as the day makes it wave?
It seems that way, and there is nothing else for me to say.
The sun is not coming out today.
The clouds will not let rays come through.
Raining is starting to fall missing everything but the trees that hold the shade.
Listening to the wind, but only hearing the song that no one understand.
Trying to figure out why the pain is running deep.
Why is causing me not to see.
Thinking about the times when we were free but worry but the times when we cannot see.
Not all is right here, not all is wrong.
The words that linger on the lips but hang by the tongue.
The things that we cannot say, but the things we cannot see.
Trying to figure why this is me.
Why I cannot be the thing that you need.
The thing that makes the sun.
The thing that gives you hope, and less worries about love.
Why cannot I you love me again?
That is all I ask the sun.
The clouds just seem to get in the way.
Winding is blowing the trees down south.
Telling the story that we have all talked about.
Hiding the fact of the pain it holds.
Listening to the sorrow that only a few knows.
Wondering when its turn will be.
Not knowing that place or the destiny.
Just knowing the feeling of something that cannot be told.
Working with other to give strength that it will never receive.
Walking the path that is never common.
Always there to lend rest when in need.
The secrets that are going to the place that no one knows.
The place where only lovers go.
The place where sorrow is home.
The trees down south have a story to be told.