Epitaph

You were a song

Your pulse was the bass drum and 

I couldn't help but hum along 

To whatever was plucking your heartstrings to make

Staccatos and chords 

I thought the pick of your internal guitar 

Was made of my words and my laugh, but no,

I was just one point on your infinite graph

I've never met anyone else who could

Make music from their fingertips like you can

Like when you brushed my hand a bit with your wrist

It created a symphony in my brain

But now it's just a chorus of crickets and rain

I need to stop getting my hopes up

Before someone gives me a rope and I confuse it with a necklace

But it's a noose or a leash and they are a leech

I try to compose songs out of sand from the warmest beach

To try to get my mind off of you but everything good

Contains the same threads that you do 

Even the chirping birds' voices don't sound sweeter than your words

I didn't know your song 

Was just my epitaph

A melody to honor a relic, and when my body is just a coffin

I guess it makes sense