Standing outside your door,
Thinking of you,
Of how you were once
Too afraid to even touch me,
Of how I’ve always been afraid
To ever let myself touch you,
To love you.

And I’m outside,
Where the crook of the moon
Hangs just low enough to cut.
Inside, safe from me,
The candle cries pearl tears,
Its weak light painting
Broken angels across the oak floor.

Unsaid whispers fill a room,
Leaving nothing left to say–
You can’t save me,
Can’t even make me stay.
In your little world,
You sit alone and count
The stars you never hold.


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