It won't make sense until I say it does

This flow through the tide of guilty pleasures and the meaning of leaving won't matter once the blockade is set and steady. I am brushing the leaves out of your hair and primping up your melody for the humming birds to lavishly guide your way. The proof you needed was shining through the ties and the lies that spread from your lips were enough to you show you fought faith. You left your worries in the marmalade and fed the birds your march in vain. You stood in puddles of wishes and held no shame. Maybe you never swam through the tears you shed and the masked burdens that you let stray caught up and laughed again.


xoxo
amely