When There's Nothing Left

Whisper "Hello, I miss you quite terribly."

Somewhere in between the beginning and the end, September took the tourist and settled in for good. You could hear the rains again; summer left and no one said a word. I'm talking to what's left of you, watching what I say, counting all the freckles on your perfect face. You open your window and I stay on your bed, just hoping that right words will come. So what happened to bulletproof weeks in your arms? What happened to feeling cheap radio songs? What happened to thinking the world was flat? What happened to that? It's all gone, love, it's all wrong.

I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore. Before you take a swing, I wonder what are we fighting for? When I say out loud, "I want to get out of this," I wonder is there anything I'm going to miss? I wonder how it's going to be when you don't know me. How's it going to be when you're sure I'm not there. How's it going to be where is no one to talk to. Between you and me, I don't care how it's going to be. Where we used to laugh, there's a shouting match, sharp as a thumbnail scratch. A silence I can't ignore like the hammocks by the doorway we spent time in. Swings empty, don't see lightning like last fall when it was always about to hit me. I wonder how it's going to be when it goes down. How's it going to be when you're not around? How's it going to be when you found out there was nothing between you and me? Because I don't care how it's going to be. I want to get myself back in again, the soft dive of oblivion. How's it going to be when you don't know me anymore? When I don't know you anymore?