18 months with halftime
Every little thing, I'm only free in my dreams. During the sunlight I'm haunted by the memories we can't bring. It's been a month or two, maybe 4, I think somehow I fell off the floor, haven't picked myself up just quite yet in the outside I'm a perfect hotmess. I confess my love screaming inside, but there's no one's ears to hear my words, protruding as a whisper they quickly die. I've tried to find love in another face, but I churn inside raging with fury but it's not right it's not their place. If your not the one, why can't it be done, I feel that tug in my heart, and this is where the over starts. Each day is like the first alone, I miss you boy just come home.