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When you go, leave me your number, although I'll never call. I will stuff it in a box while I weather out the fall, and I'll stuff that box up in the closet on a shelf that will prove to be a test on empty afternoons when longing crawls its way into my chest. Hidden underneath my blanket, a sleeping bag's unrolled, and all throughout the winter it'll keep me from the cold. I'll cocoon my tiny frame inside and wait to generate some heat, and soon I will be warm and sound asleep, apart, on Kelly Street. Soon the sun will come up quicker with the coming of the spring, though I won't be up to meet it, as my still-sleeping alarm won't ring. When I wake I will turn over to see the blinds leaving shadows on my bed and I'll see your sleeping eyes as a mirage in my groggy head. I'll just be waiting on the summer so I can push these sheets aside; and though each year I just get dumber, I hope this time I will abide; and though so vivid are the details, like that silly smirk that used to spread across your face, my heartbeat will admit nothing through the posture of its pace. From Letras Mania