It is night, the room is empty
except for the two of us
all of our things are packed up in boxes
all of my words are strewn on the floor.
I think about the strange, lucid night.
Frost halo moon hanging like an omen.
I can say goodbye in 12 different languages
but tonight I don’t know how.
I’ve given in, if love is a bridge, we built it wrong.
I used to hate sleeping because it’s just like being unconscious for eight hours but now I love sleep because it’s just like being unconscious for eight hours