He was the sun to my thirty days of night.
I was clinging desperately to what he could give me; it wasn't hope.
No, I didn't feel hope anymore. I had swallowed that down a long time ago.
It was some mixture of satisfaction and this anticipation that I felt right down to my bones.
He was breathin' life back into lungs that had barely been hanging on.
It was the way my name rolled off his tongue, his eyes finding mine in the dark before he drifted down, down, down and lost himself—taking me right along with him.
We were oil and water, colliding and never coming together the right way.
He'd float to the top while I clung to the deepest part of the depths that I could reach.
A rare and beautiful melody—that's what he would call it when I laughed.
Some far off sound that he only heard once in a while. I didn't laugh much, I never laughed when he wasn't around.
I yelled though, I had pipes on me, and I wasn't afraid to let him hear me.
But the whole time I did, the corner of his mouth would turn up and his eyes would twinkle—mischievous, someone had called him once.
I felt myself gasping for air when he wasn't around. I felt every ray of the sun leaving my skin, and then the night was swallowing me whole again.
When the light left his eyes, the sun left with it.
I was in darkness, and there would be no reprieve.
He was gone, and I would never be saved.