This is actually happening.

Who am I to say to you,
that the wind is real,
while you're face is blue.
Begging for the sky my
eyes begin to peel,
layers of atmosphere
and all the ways we do feel.

In actual forgiveness, I actually thought you could be real.

What a plan;
a row of seeds.
Rowing out to plant the trees,
to drown the roots
and make you feel free.
How will it feel to me?

I actually thought I could have mattered,
I'll admit that I was flattered.
Out to sea,
dreaming of places we could be.

We'll be there when we get there,
either way your here with me.