paintings.

my father once told me,

i think we did one thing wrong.

i think, if every time we gave you something,

we should have told you

that it is only being loaned to you.

if you know that it didn't belong to you,

you wouldn't mind if we took it away.

dad was right,

of course.

if i never had anything called mine,

it wouldn't have been a thing

for it to disappear.

i wouldn't have cried,

because i'd expect it to go

any time, any time.

paint me a picture,

don't dedicate it to me.

whisper in my ear,

about her and her love.

write me a song,

let me hear it twice.

deja vu,

i'll call it all a dream.

carefully disappear,

i'll pretend i don't know

what emptiness is.