I think you are One of the most beautiful Things that had a 1 in 400 trillion chance Of even being born And was
I’m glad I made it, too, so that I met you.
But I can’t tell you that, because I promised not to.
Because I try to be A man of my word And I’m doomed by This anxiety That starts eating away at me Closing and opening doors In hallways it should Never be
It seems to cling to Old memories in old rooms Telling the story of how Each used to be a fresh wound
But what’s done is done And somewhere in my rambling, you found a cozy place wide enough just for one.
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