An Old Home Of Black

Prelude, keep it quiet.

Softer than the brush of the blanket when a lover

Finds a new position in their sleep.

Softer than the exhale of breath you cherish

When you know you're the only one hearing it.

Safe sounds, safe house. Don't overdo it.

Don't overstay your welcome, make the heart grow fonder.

Please tell me that you want me to stay.

Please wake up and tell me all the things I want to hear.

But still the soft, questionable silence.

I can't pretend we didn't meet upon undesirable terms,

But what makes you think our lives haven't played out the way they were meant to be?

With you by my side, I confessed and you cried,

With our heads in our palms, we knew not what would happen next.

You've expressed your doubt and addiction to failure back in the winter,

And no one knew what to make out of that.

I confessed my love proudly and yet bashful,

You confessed your desire but not your intent, not your dedication.

It was a calamitous mixture of lust for forbidden fruit and

The raw, unhinged passion and knowledge that

You knew exactly who you were and what you wanted.

And now we're in two separate rooms, as I ramble on

"She doesn't love me" to void myself of anything nostalgic.

Concocting new mumblings under my OCD ridden breath

To allow what once was to take new life, particularly so that we're on the same page.

Unrequited is not sad enough of a word to describe love.

But doesn't it seem wasteful to not even attempt to have passion?

To pretend that what you found in the beginning isn't there anymore?

To not see through the things you've both repented and forgave

And to just once again see the beautiful you that was there 9 months ago?

Let's pretend that we're both not better people, that we can both be callous.

And while we're making up fantasies, let's just both imagine what life is like

Being by an endless raging ocean, standing on the shore and just hoping that

The waves aren't so much that they'll suck you in, causing panic and confusion

And reactions you never thought you'd see out of someone you

Just moments ago saw being so serene and warm, loving and gentle.

Upstairs, there is a box of jewelry, each one ridden with a thousand stories

That I will never get to hear.

There's a painting from an old lover with a message so genuine on the back of it,

But never fully became realized.

Is this to my benefit?

Or more of a revelation?

There's a casket needing closing buried in the walls of this house,

But you keep revisiting the corpse and letting it's rot fill into our lungs.

There's disturbance in the silence so loud that it keeps me awake in the late hours.

There's not enough time left for me to do everything I can to fix it.

I can fix anything if you'd try.

I'm just waiting for the inevitable,

I'm just putting off what I know I cannot do.

I don't get what I want, and neither does anyone else.

So I'll do what I do best: I'll fight to the end,

I'll prod and doubt, do everything ugly until there's nothing left.

I want nothing more than to be your best friend

From here until eternity, with boundless love dispersed within.

I'll write you songs, though I don't for anyone

I'll express myself in art that I'll just disguise as fun.

Even though it's killing me, I can feel myself unravel

There's nothing worse than losing a loved one.

So I'll do my very best, and follow through in what I say,

I'll show that I'm a better man and I'll prove it day by day

I can't allow myself to falter out of your good grace

So I'll repent and show remorse and that I meant every promise.

But will that be enough to bring love back?