i’ve been reading your words
over and over again
like the scripture
like inching veins on my body

they tell me that you’ve grown older
that your mind wanders where it shouldn’t
that your eyes gaze farther than before
though your heart still rents the same place

and i hear your voice speak them
the vibrations so familiar
it’s like you’re right here in the shadows
if only you could step out into the light

and i ask myself
“do you think he romanticizes
the wrong things like you do?
do you think the words are about you?”

the raindrops outside the pane
reminds me of his tears
broken, yes
but he’s washing away the pain

and i ask myself
“when he reads the words i write
when he listens to songs i sing
does he know who they’re for?”