Hearts don't break, y'all. They bruise and get better.
You can call me an angry ghost when I'm gone, or laugh into my disposition. But my mom will still see me as her wide-eyed wanderer out behind the garage inventing ways to fend off dog attacks that will probably never happen.
Make love to me like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Everything is out there. That's why they call it everything.
We can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
You are the home I point to that lives in my chest.