regret is a sharp burning night that scrapes layers off my skin and when your words aren’t murmuring white noise it’s impossible to feel safe in the darkness
sometimes i look at the yellow beacon of you and i feel real, no longer lost and wandering but safe in the footprints of those whose paths have crumbled off the edge of the earth
talk is cheap and doubts run rampant but you are my home and my search through the night feels finished when i finally feel the pull of your large soft hands
