You know what happens to the hopeless Romantic that can’t find their tribe?
That can’t find the ones who understand their soul’s language?
A sickness…
A sickness that finds a strange beauty in pain
In that hollow in their chest that’s an echo of how alone they feel
So maybe I long to sip coffee in eccentric mugs with someone who reads my soul
I want our eyes to find each other in the crowd because we noticed the sky changed colours but no one else seems to mind
Watch the light bounce off little puddles after it rains
Stand by the window when the sky gets really dark before a storm
You know,
All those really little beautiful things I want to do…no to have …so much
So much so that it makes my chest hurt
And somehow it’s a beautiful emptiness
A beautiful pain that I can fill my day dreams with
But I will still take pictures of the sky at dawn
You know, to save for my tribe