Written by: Ira Dawson

Is it okay if I kiss you when I stagger through the bedroom door? 
Is it pathetic that I miss you in those black jeans and red shirt? 
What if I said I needed this more than you ever did? 
Would you let me understand the way the light falls, circling your face? 
Can I put my hand here? 
Can I feel you again? 
Would you let me sit beside you, my hands dancing on your skin? 
Have you ever stopped to wonder what the white-washed words all meant? 
Do you hear the tracks of tears, making trenches down my chin?
Do you hear it? 
Can you feel them? 
Do you care you caused this feeling?
Can you hear me when I whisper?
Can you just listen?
Does it matter?