After Hours.

This door is always open,
This door is always open,
No one has the guts to shut us out.
But if we have to go now,
I guess there’s always hope that,
Some place will be serving after hours.

You were flung across my sky like the brightest of shooting stars. The dust of you rained down around me, like cast off fireflies, they all burned out. Now I’m scared I’ll be blinded to any other light that might shine, there might be more fish in the sea, there might be more stars in the sky, but I feel like I’m alone in a boat…blind and without a fishing pole.

—sigh.