morning comes.

many talks about you in the past couple of days, like we're organizing memories for easy access in the future.

the three of us cried, and i cried more than once. but the tears just ran down my cheeks, without sobs or heaving breaths... just quiet tears.

five six seven in the morning, it doesn't matter because we're talking about you. genuine and hushed, the three of us want to change, but we find ourselves lost in motivation. we talk about the sadder questions or who's going to be next and what you would have done if it were me and what we have to do now ... because you were kind of the leader of the pack.

morning comes, and our lungs are aching with the breaths of smoke we've all been taking in. tongues are sour with old whiskey and numb with tardy conversations.

you come to light with us, and we go to bed with you.