You’re the warm home, when it’s freezing outside.
You’re like my safety, a place where I can hide.
You’re like my safety, a place where I can hide.
I’m the broken words, the ones with letters mixed.
You’re the quill and ink, my flaw can now be fixed.
Like an old jacket, worn out and left behind.
I have stories left to tell, but not the healing kind.
You’re the main character, missing in this plot.
You mean more to the story than I ever thought.
