Pain is a braid in a little girl's hair, tied back with the elastic of memory.
As long as we keep remembering, we'll keep suffering in our own personal black hole.

When nightfall paints the bedroom windows' black, mom removes the red band.
Removing the memory, we begin to remove the pain.

The little girl lies on her bed, her hair a puddle of hazel on the pillow.
No longer a braid, now waves of her hair.
Pain starts fading away but no matter how long it's been,
there's still some suffering wanting to stay.

No one really has answers—
Just stories.

Blindfold me with your words;
thick like paint they cover my eyes with lies.

Why must I be oblivious if I cannot see?

I still have my ears,
my touch,
my sense of smell,
my sense of taste.
I don't need my eyes to find the light.

The truth can be found without a steady gaze.
There are so many ways your ignorance will never figure out.

Let me show you when I give you my goodbyes,
untying the knot with my own two hands.

If I was trying to be funny, I wouldn't be funny at all.
If I was trying to be romantic, I wouldn't be romantic at all.
If I was trying to be someone, I wouldn't be someone at all.

Stop using the word 'trying'
And start believing in your aspired dreams.
Be funny.
Be romantic.
Be someone.

Don't just 'try'...

Become.

You plant
A seed in me
Every time
I see you and
Spring is coming