I Don’t Know How To Talk To You

I don’t know how to talk to you when you take your head off. So I just plant flowers and hope  they grow deep roots. I think back to all the gardens I’ve tried to grow, and I don’t think I’ve ever did it the way I really wanted. I mean the way I talked about doing it all the time. With the alluring path that draws you in, and the stimuli that overwhelm those senses. We have talks that open you up, but it’s not everything I am.  Say goodbye to those quieter parts; Shade is a work to cast and flowers take time to grow. Hold up, keep up, soft as water love to raise a garden trust.

They say it’s love, but it isn’t love is it
I just don’t understand. Or I’m scared that I do.
We want to speak to hear how we sound
We want space, but we don’t want to be alone

I don’t think I’ve fully explained to you all about myself. Probably because beyond seeking dangers of all peculiar sorts, I don’t know much what makes me feel the way I do. Strangely enough though something has changed. I used to not consider the potential harm of danger. I overlooked it, it would never be me of all persons. I’ve started to put the belt on when I drive. I think for a moment before I jump – Before I do anything. Maybe because you made me realize what might be lost if it were me, just once.

I try with you,
I know you feel what I feel;
It seems like I say all the great things,
but I know you can’t be serious about me

I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve heard first hand stories of your childhood, and they make me smile – I know how you treat your family at the dinner table, and lounging around the house; Your goals are beautiful struggles I know you’ll achieve; Your inner mythology drags me under with all its’ lessons about leaving; Breathing all the time is overrated. I know what you’d get as a tattoo, even though you’d never get one, for now.

You better wake up & act like nothing’s wrong