I know of all things you loathe, you hated how
The sun rises too slow and the stars stand bare.
They lie that being exposed can be beautiful too.
The rains in your heart never reach your eyes,
And I understand why you live in the clouds,
Even if I dream of a day with clear skies above.
Sometimes I feel like reaching out to you,
Coming out of the dark corners of your heart.
But it's so hard to step out in storm so wild.
Your lips say "please" and your eyes, "sorry"
As I watch you talk to yourself every night.
Maybe I should put us out of your misery.
I've never been one for philosophy until you.
I've never believed the abyss would stare back.
And that people could be broken too.
I've become a museum for your fragments.
Maybe I can't fix you or maybe it's all my fault,
For romanticizing your path to self-destruction.
It could be that I was too mesmerized,
By the delicate patterns in the cracked glass
To realize how fragile you, and we, were.
Maybe you were wrong to believe in me,
That I was your salvation from shattering.
Maybe I never was, maybe you were mine.