(no subject)
There are holes on the pages and in both our hearts, the saddest sound in the world is the quiet at the end of the night, after the applause. We never wanted to go back to being us, especially when being them became everything. Do you drive to the lake after the show instead of going home? Maybe I'll meet you there sometime, and we'll throw all these memories into the water, disturb reflected surface images and peek at whats underneath. The missing doesn't go away, no matter what anyone says.