I write better love than I make, and I haven’t written much of anything of late.
Time’s supposed to keep your heart safe, but mine just hurts more with every break.
Like old, brittle bones that take longer to heal, my heart is in rehab more than it’s on the field.
I waited on my prime, but it did not wait on me. Already too old - twenty-three.
I remember better dreams than I have. I don’t dream too much. I sleep with the TV on.
My goals don’t reach past the weekend, and when it gets here, I don’t know where to begin.
I planted a garden I did not care to weed. I dreamed about the flowers and forgot about the seeds.
I waited on my dreams, but they did not wait on me. Already too old - twenty-three.
Time is a fickle thing we tried to tame. But it won’t come when I call.
And I’m not asking to go back again. But you never have enough until you cannot spend it all.
I write better love than I make, and I haven’t written much of anything of late.
Time’s supposed to keep your heart safe, but mine hurts a little more with every break.
Like old, brittle bones that take longer to heal, my heart is in rehab more than it’s on the field.
I waited on my prime, and forgot to be happy. Already too old - twenty-three.
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