Streetlights cast a glow on the concrete,

against the dying sun, artificial moonbeams.

In the backseat, I told you through a blue screen

that this time I think we’ll make it out clean.

It was three in the morning, you said you loved me,

and those once empty words suddenly meant everything.

There was a feeling I could never quite shake,

and for the first time, I knew I was truly safe.

The rose bushes bloomed brighter than I had ever seen,

and for once the story seemed to have a pleasant ending.

Now I cherish every color you painted for me,

and every fragile word you dared to speak.

You traced constellations in the stars at night,

and drew shapes in the clouds when it was bright.

As the streetlights go dark in the light of day,

I’ll look to the sky and thank God you stayed.