You were always playing that same old game with me—
living in your lazy haze
between sun drenched elsewhere,
the sea, and me.
Stop following me, I’d say.
I have to go be the world now,
while Someone stayed, missing me.
But now that I’m a little older,
I can see that you were
what I wouldn’t see.
I think, maybe,
You were Paradise with eyes.
And I was too busy missing tomorrow
and, waiting for yesterday…