Sometimes I’d see a beautiful light refracting
And try to catch it, but then realize
What would I do with it’s in my grasp?
I sit amongst the sand of beautiful things
Each and every thing unused, unwanted
Glittery gold must lose its lustre at one point
When its owner no longer finds value in copper and sheen

I can’t hold a pretty thing for too long
Without wanting to throw it away
A beautiful memory is nice so long as it can be forgotten
A coral broach fine so long as it is never used
An ideal opportunity is riveting on paper only
As soon as it starts figmenting into reality
I shut it down and laugh it away

Staring at the junkyard in my bedroom
I replace each beautiful thing with a memory
Just like these paste jewels and gold filigree
I box them and marker them and send them away
And just like each pretty thing I see on a dusty store counter
I pass it up and let it be, for someone else to see
I think that I’m waiting for something just right
Some perfect pretty thing waiting for me

Junkyards overflowing in my backdoor
As I let each beautiful thing pass me by, I wonder why
If I’d just reach out and grasp it, they could be mine
But then I pause to wonder, to what end?
Bright static boxes tell me that I’m undeserving
And my mother tells me that I’m just spoilt sweet
Some friends say that I need to appreciate the good things
But most just laugh and say that I’m paranoid

I’ve never put much value in precious things
Or rather, I’ve been afraid to try
Afraid that they’d lose their scarce magic on my watch
And I’d run out of things to pin hope upon
Most people look at one thing and see a world of wonder
But when I reach out, it withers and dies
And I don’t know why

But I guess all I can do is tape up these boxes
Send away the old memories
I can’t buy back all the pretty things I’ve given away
But one day, maybe, I’ll find one that stays
I’ll find a memory that I can cling to
I’ll find a friend who will stay by-the-by
I’ll find some cause that I could stick to
Grab some opportunity that will launch me to the skies
One day I’ll stop being afraid of the pretty things
I’ll stop and enjoy the glitter and the gold
And slowly but surely I’ll gather up these riches
So one day this empty room will be full, not cold