If you were here you'd hold me, right?

It seems like I remember that you have the softest skin. Not like mine. Not like mine at all.

If you were here I know you wouldn't say nothing. Much. You'd just be wide open like the June windows. No screens at all. And yes, the moth flies in. But I never saw anything wrong with that.

What's the difference between outside and inside anyway? You'd just open your windows for me and I might just choose to wander around in the lawn lookin' up two stories, kinda nervous, pacing and serenading and really wanting your attention.

Why don't I just fly right up?

It seems like I remember one time you were doing something, like trying to work or something - you had the sunglasses on and everything - and there I was standing near you and then we looked at each other and then your sunglasses came off and your jeans too. We left my bottoms on.

But I'm not quite sure. The memory is fading. I'm loosing touch. I'm going away from all the things.

I'm pretty sure you remember. I'm pretty sure you can remind me. I'm pretty sure you're still real and you would love me all the way to the light and beyond, oh my moth's wings, I will fly us in and through, but you've got to hang on to me. Don't let go. Don't let me go alone. You would hold me, right? If you were here?

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