I wrote a story for you, but it was all wrong.I sung a song for you, but the words didn't match. I painted a picture of you, but it was all smudged. My mind's eye had a mind of its own.
I drifted from you, but I trusted my gut. I tried to hold your hand, but I could only feel it half. I listened to your story, but it came out one ear. I tried to pull my bootstraps up, but they had rotted away, and I thought it would all fall away.
But then I remembered love, and I realized I wasn't wearing boots at all, and I went and smelled the butterfly bush, and there was one flower left from all the times before, and its scent was faded, but it was still enough to wake me up. Enough for a second chance.
I just needed to blow things up.
And when the dust that was never really there had settled, you were unspeakably beautiful.