Actually, I'm Just Wearing Your Glasses

I watched your cheeks flush, colored by an air from a calgary cold front
Your breath made ghosts spill into the night
And gather as if they might not disappear

I had heard a rumor you were moving back home!

But even if it was true, I did not expect to hear it from you so bluntly.

So it hung in the air like a fever, or a slow moving front
And I would not find shelter here, so I braced myself

"Out!" I cried, "out!
Are you running to or are you running from?
Or does it even matter if it won't change your mind?"

When you put you hand on mine
I knew