The air still tastes of lemon peel, Like summers I refused to heal. Your laughter drifts along the wall, It fades, but I can hear it call. A cup still shines beneath the light, Your touch still aches, so faint, so slight. I breathe it in and close my eyes, Pretend that time forgot its ties. If I had said the things I meant, Would love have stayed, or just been spent? The weight of words I couldn’t show Still pulls me where I shouldn’t go. And every taste of lemon skin Brings you to life, then burns again. I keep your cup upon the shelf, Half out of hope, half for myself. The scent still clings, it never fades, Like memories made of slow parades. The street still breathes your citrus rain, It wakes the ache I hide in vain. I chase your ghost through open air, But nothing’s left, you’re nowhere there. If I had said the things I meant, Would love have stayed, or just been bent? Those words I feared now haunt the line, A song half yours, half barely mine. And every taste of lemon skin Brings you to life, then burns again. The clock insists, the days have gone, But still I wait, though you’ve withdrawn. Your laughter sounds like porcelain, Then falls like dust through quiet rain. I speak to silence that never cared, And dream of what we never shared. If I had said the things I meant, Would you have known the love I lent? Now silence hums where you should be, And lemon drifts through memory. I taste it once, I let it in... And lose you, slow, beneath my skin. (Hmmmmhmmmmmm) The air still tastes of lemon peel. I breathe, and try to call it real.
