| Midway to Logan and I’m anxious at the airport.
|
| Just buy some paper, steal a pen — 99 cents at CVS.
|
| I tucked it in my pocket and then I met you on the train.
|
| I think I scribbled on the first page, I’ll never look at it again.
|
| I’ll bury it in the graveyard of Moleskines and napkins that I’ve picked up and
|
| forgot — bastard thoughts, wasted breath.
|
| As if I’d ever look back to reflect.
|
| As if I’d ever look back once I checked my bag.
|
| It all sounds so sad, to be leaving for good.
|
| I said «it wouldn’t be like that with us.»
|
| You said, «I believe in you.»
|
| I’m not wrong for wanting to feel close or feel nothing, but it’s not easy to
|
| admit that you’re not a good man.
|
| Because I drove you away with empty words about feeling safe and if I wrote
|
| them down, there’s no way I’d find or remember them now.
|
| Because I shouldn’t go back to the past for help anymore.
|
| I should’ve said these words the last time that I saw you at the airport.
|
| And I get nervous when I think about permanence, then I remember that
|
| departures have to land again.
|
| Somewhere. |