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I miss the dying fireflies and holding your hands
I think I still love you
and I'd rather see
happiness in your forest-fire eyes
than in my dull brown ones
I know I still miss you
and I'd rather lose
all the fingers on my writing hand
than never hold your wild-flower hands again
but
the morning light is streaming
in through my bedroom window
and I have responsibilities
and people counting on me
I'm trying to do it right this time
I've got something to prove
and I'd rather never run again
than push you away but
If you're in my way
you're gonna have to move.
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