I felt the floorboards shake and tremble
From the stench of paint and thinner
I watched the leaves pick up and walk away

From the very thought of winter
I watched the ocean's floor retreat
At the notion of being seen

You see it's not that I hate change
It's just that I doubt I have it in me


I saw your ghost on the cross street
Of Huguenot and Drumgoole East
And I haven't come to terms yet

You set your sights across the pond
Now you're never coming back


I left everything I ever swore
I just could never part with
We took the bookmarks out of place

and rearranged the pages back accordingly

I swore the context is wearing thin

The space between the pages
Starts to blur like the lines within them