Sometimes, to love,
I hear the record playing a certain song
To bring tears upon my open palms.
I only want to feel,
So that I will not conceal,
Everything not meant to be the shield
In the vulnerability of what I wield.
I wield the woes,
As I listen to the sounds of crows,
As I listen to your sighs,
Across the ocean
And it comes as screams.
I wish I could love you, again.
I wish I could speak your name,
Without wanting to weep a tear
That is more bitter than my own name.