We aren't even sure of ourselves, how can we be sure of everyone else? |
One thousand and one open doors,
Fifteen pages of a single verse...
I'm drunk on love and falling hard.
The taste of coffee, your strawberry hair...
Like the scars that line her arms,
amid a dark and blackened heart...
I panic.
Not just worry, but full on panic...
You grip my finger in your tiny hand
and you look at me as if I have all the answers...