You are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me.

if they survive through the night, thats what i hear from down the stairs. can anything survive alone through the night? the grass has the damp, the computer has its power, a paper has its lines, but us? we have nothing but delicate pillows that are suppose to surround us with the comfort of another. the sky was a stormy gray and i sung along with the song that had found its way to me. after leaving my words in a book i was tempted to retrace our steps because for the first time i wasn't sure if i'd remember them. part of me wonders if i see the world in a different way then everyone else. am i really noticing that small child and is her face actually sprinkled with freckles, or are you seeing something different? did i actually see the heart in the sky or was it just a planes left over smoke? and really, are you all i made you out to be or are you just
another person? I think we all could answer that but I'm the only one who doesn't want to.
I'm okay with the idea of being strange and unfamiliar, its the safest thing to be.