We've lived and died a hundred times
And then were born at last.
An unreliable impending future
Fixated on the past.
Reading people like open books,
Noticing the parts that were edited out.
Becoming friends with the welcoming shadows
And certainty drowning in the doubt.
You asked me to forgive you,
I said you had nothing to be sorry for.
Only able to see the colours for what they are
Because we've lived without them before.
I'll tell you what you want to hear
And you'll tell me what I don't.
Shouting to the sky, "I'll run away from here!"
But deep down, I know I won't.
Collecting the freedom that ripples through the broken cages
When I'm flying with the birds.
Maybe I'll only allow myself to be satisfied
Once I've used up all my words.
Always sitting on the rooftop,
Hearing how the rainclouds speak to each other.
And you made me feel so blue,
Until it became my favourite colour.
Perhaps I'm too good at keep secrets
But not good enough to let them fade away.
So maybe I'll simply write it down,
Because I have nothing else left to say.
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