5/10

Ten after seven A.M., and I'm trying my best to remember the words to the songs you sung the night before. In a haze of exhaustion, I glance out my drivers side window and stare towards Lake Michigan. Flicking off the radio, I pray unto silence I could recite a line or two. I recall your voice, and the way your fingers ran up and down the neck of your guitar. I can remember the art of your lips forming pitches and tones. The language of your body under stage lights. It was only you. But I forgot the words.