in your arms there is nothing left but water and even that will slip through your fingers soon. i just want to remember all the little details, the ones you thought were insignificant. one day we'll wake up somewhere far away from this city and from these people and we'll be in a different bed. the light will pour in and the morning will be hazy and warm and our fingers will have dried from the water residing in them now, but although we may not be as restless or young as we are now too, our hearts will beat the same.