Acting

I think I'm nearly done running away. Think it might be time to go back where I started.

(And so begins the long way back...) 

Back to where I went back already - where the inspirations came with every belt of star, chirp of late summer bugs, and leaves upon leaves on all the trees. 

Go back to where I fell. And where I fell in love. 

And out.

Was out in the cold -- but the cold sparkled, and it was a faith I prayed to in the nook between the holly trees.  

Cause I'm really going to hell already - breaking a once-good(always good?) heart. That killing of time before you change - and can't pretend anymore. Any longer. 

I'm waiting just a little longer to say the words my mind's repeating. The ones that just aren't true to have anymore. The ones that should have been discarded seasons ago with the boots with the worn-away heel. 

Forgive me maybe? - I fear I'm the romance that I've already had. 

I've already had - and so I already know - there's nothing like the earthquake there. 

While somewhere in the sweet soft night one man stops and whispers - 

And she answers --

 - with that remembrance of how it might hurt - 

That's how it goes when reasoning keeps losing.

When you can't just keep the distance and pretend - 

when you can't disguise yourself into....anything, 

then it's coming down, -- you're left with, oh... something else--

when you can't act, you're left with actually feeling. 

And feeling makes the confused night so long with someone not quite there.