I measured love by any success
it's harder now that you're gone, i must confess

but still, i can't wait for everything
to align itself with me
and give up the sanctity
of the ambience

i don't get it; why must we collect memories
as if we'll gain any sense from their complexities
every little sound i make is questioned and explored
as if there's something to gain from pretending you're bored

but still, i can't wait until today
to realize that it's okay
and give up the holiday
i made up in my brain