moths seem to like the light, even though they get burned.
that’s me, with you.
the porch lights are turned on, as I try to make the night magical.
we sway back n forth in the seat for two, as two kids in love do.
the squalor of relationships and love leave us searching for shooting stars in the night.
somehow I feel like the moths, searching for that porch light knowing ill get burned.
sometimes I wish I didn’t care as much, it’s something I don’t think I’ll ever learn.