Late June, crickets singing just outside your window,

Your breath was a whisper drowning in the summer glow.

Your hand in mine—so small it felt borrowed from a dream,

We talked about forever, fuck, nothing’s ever what it seems.

And I thought: If I could freeze this air,

I’d hold you here forever—just so you’d know I fucking care.

You’re the hush at midnight, the secret I can’t say aloud,

The ghost of a memory that lingers in the crowd.

You’re the tear I swallowed just to feel brave,

The quiet fire in a dream I can’t save.

Old Polaroids in a box on your old desk still lie,

Sunlight through dust, framed the corner of your eye.

We never spoke of forever, but you stayed in the silence,

A melody soft but with weight in its violence.

And even now, when the world’s rough and loud,

I still see you, fuck, right there in the crowd.

You’re the hush at midnight, the secret I can’t say aloud,

The ghost of a memory that lingers in the crowd.

You’re the tear I swallowed just to feel brave,

The quiet fire in a dream I can’t save.

Let’s not build castles with our broken hands,

We’ll burn them in moonlight — where understanding stands.

I’ll hold you in every silence and each spark,

Even when daylight tries to pull us the fuck apart.

June’s lullaby plays softly, unheard in sunlit streets,

I carry you in every breath where the world and memory meets.