So tell me, how are you now?
Do you still sleep like you won?
Does your ego keep you warm at night
When there’s nobody left to fool?
You thought losing me was freedom,
So why does freedom look so blue?
I kept waiting
for September
like it was a train
that would take me
somewhere better.
It arrived.
The doors opened.
And I was still standing
on the same platform,
holding eight months
of sadness
in my hands,
too tired
to know
where I wanted to go.
We don’t outgrow
our old selves.
we bury them
under new names,
new cities,
new people,
new versions of “I’m okay.”
but sometimes
a song finds the grave
and suddenly
you’re seventeen again.