this won't always be true

this won't always be true.
when we don't say words anymore, things will be made right
when we can shave the days with wandering eyes and walk away.
those were the days. countless and crying we laid on hot cement sidewalks
nothing is fragile and this will not always be true.
green is the tree that grows in my yard yellow is the air that surrounds
this won't always be true.
when we walk past something like an understanding in a way
when we can speak our names and tame the horses that ran away.
those were the days. enumerable textures flew past our faces as we became so near.
i used to live in a big big house. now the birds have flown south and ash covers the awnings.