Tomorrow I see
I want to be the hair that falls on his forehead. I sometimes am like it. I sometimes curl up to him and lie on his skin. These curls, he's always brushing off with his fingertips. I want him to brush me away because I'm always half-heartedly clinging to him. Maybe if he brushed me off, like a big brother to a little sister, maybe then I could love him hard.
His hair is the best thing of him. It's bountiful in my hands, so much of it, rich and dead-leaf coloured like a bang. Underneath it, his big nose, his big chin, they balance out just nice on his contortable elastic play-clay face. No other boy is like this. His uniquity, is it enough to spark my heart from adoring-friendship to love?
Tomorrow I see him, tomorrow I see.
His hair is the best thing of him. It's bountiful in my hands, so much of it, rich and dead-leaf coloured like a bang. Underneath it, his big nose, his big chin, they balance out just nice on his contortable elastic play-clay face. No other boy is like this. His uniquity, is it enough to spark my heart from adoring-friendship to love?
Tomorrow I see him, tomorrow I see.