I want to walk in the woods with you,
leave behind these desert dunes,
listen to the wind ripple through branches and leaves,
become lost in a sea of green,
fingers intertwined, to know that you are mine.
If there’s nothing wrong then, tell me, how did we get here?
So far from what could have been but yet the life of discordance now makes sense.
If we’re both right, then what is there to hold onto?
Where do I draw the line between someone else’s name and mine?
Where do I draw the line?
Image by Rick Kuntz from Pixabay
notthestateofmyhouse 