Time to Pretend

Here’s to the bad years

I can still picture the view from your bedroom window, as we would lay there in the stillness with my heart in your hand. I can still feel you breathe softly onto my skin, as you let your quiet manipulations slowly sink in.

I wish I had known, or recognized at first, that when you said you’d love me, in the end I’d be getting hurt. Yet I have one request, my nightly lullaby and cry, that despite a fleeting romance you’ll never truly say goodbye.