hester prynne.

tomorrow, i go back.

theoretically, it should all be the same.

i am the same, theoretically.

it is the decrescendo of my hallelujah.

hallelujah, hallelujah,

it is the coming down from sweet summer heaven.

i am not the same, i touched something of heaven,

love, sweet sweet love.

there is nothing else worth fighting for.

i am so tired, so beat down from restless nights feeling your phantom arms wrapped around me and did you know what that would do? did you know that would make it harder after you left, so gently, and went home to her? did you know that my fingers perform the secret handshake we made walking down the street? they are lonely for their partner.

did you tell her? did you tell her?

touching back to earth makes me remember grit and gravel, and i will not beg, but i will wonder who can touch so tender and claim nothing but a sudden, faithful other love.

i know no one with a heart not divided.

tomorrow, i go back.

there are hurricanes in me, thunder roars and lightning rages and so so many tears.

nothing is the same.

i walk a quiet, condemned, reserved hester prynne.

there's no need to fight the injustice of my heart, just to shed my skin.

soon, i will forget you. heaven's glory love will fade.

the second loss will be a relief.

it would be a relief to have duller nerves.

tomorrow, i go back.

i crave the walking down the street, anonymous and hidden.

you will always know my face,

but i am not the same.