When walking through campus,
The wind brushes against my face,
Making my hair strands curl.
Though another said it's whispering,
The wind’s like a blizzard of warm air outside.
With my earphones on,
If you look very closely,
There's an archway above my eyes.
My eyebrows are like a kelp forest.
Though my nose is small,
I wish I could smell something clearly…
In my memories I reminisce,
Though my eyes are brown as Florida sand,
So are the woman's who’s long gone in her Utopia,
Because I was mad, mad…
In the back of my mind,
There’s a lady who’s not a figment of my imagination,
And at the café, on my tablet,
There’s a picture of a nebulae with some stars behind it,
I wonder, sometimes,
Would she see me as her equal?
That maybe I wasn’t her type,
Maybe I wasn’t her type.
