Indigo

The ocean still wears your name,
salt on my lips, but it’s not the same.
Every street feels like a photograph,
faded edges where we used to laugh.
I chase the shadow of your ghost
through motels and cherry smoke,
and every mirror tells me lies
about a girl who still survives.

They said time would turn the tide,
but my waves keep pulling me under —
and I don’t fight.

In the silver afterglow,
I still see you in the undertow.
Every kiss was a funeral hymn,
every touch was the end and the sin.
They call it love, I call it a curse —
beautiful, but it only hurts.
And I can’t let you go,
not in this silver afterglow.

The palm trees sway like they know the truth,
whispering secrets about me and you.
I drink to the sound of your old guitar,
play it soft, like you’re not that far.
Your voice is the crack in the vinyl,
spinning slow, sweet and final.
I sleep with the light turned low,
so I can dream in indigo.

They said time would turn the tide,
but my waves keep pulling me under —
and I don’t fight.

In the silver afterglow,
I still see you in the undertow.
Every kiss was a funeral hymn,
every touch was the end and the sin.
They call it love, I call it a curse —
beautiful, but it only hurts.
And I can’t let you go,
not in this silver afterglow.

Maybe heaven’s just a lonely room,
with your perfume in the air like doom.
Maybe hell is a motel bed,
where I replay the last words you said.
If you’re the light, then I’ll stay blind,
if you’re the death, I’ll never mind.

In the silver afterglow…
where the sun never truly shows…
I’ll meet you again in the undertow.

Until then, I dream in Indigo.