One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end.

I'm what's left of when we
Swam under the moon
Now the rest of my days are just
Waiting for when
You come down and tell me
I was meant for you, baby
Being with you
Makes the flame burn good