In my return to the ghost town, I think I focused more on the skyline than you, noticed “I couldn’t feel the full moon’s love.” Was it because you were hiding it “in case some premature reflection of the sun might have come?” Maybe you were “too afraid I’d take it in with that summer’s sweat.” And so I did, but you didn’t know that yet. It seems we’re all falling to the middle of the street, begging for anything to put us to sleep, to take us anywhere but here. This can’t be all there is. I won’t let go, as long as my eyes can stay open for the start of a new day. I’m afraid of the future, yet so satisfied to know that we can continue to breathe. We will never let go.