silent and cliche
thought you'd be looking for the next in line to love then ignore
put out and put away
and so you'd soon be leaving me along like i'm supposed to be tonight,
tomorrow and everyday
there's nothing here that you'll miss
i can guarantee you this is a cloud of smoke
trying to occupy space
what a fucking joke
what a fucking joke
i waited for a bus to separate the both of us and take me off far away
from you 'cos my feelings never change a bit i always feel like shit i
don't know why i guess that i "just do"
you once talked to me about love and you painted pictures of
a never-neverland and i could've gone to that place
but i didn't understand
i didn't understand
i didn't understand
it's not you, it's me
As the past three months have proven to me, I am capable of acting other than I usually would. Considering that I was just at the point where I wanted to cut away from my superfluous relations and actively avoid building more relations, I know that there's something -- no, many things -- about you that draw me to you. But, I think I've run too quickly in the cold, still air such that my lungs sting, I've swum out too far too fast that I'm left in the sea without energy for the way back. I'm tired. Maybe life is cyclical, maybe it is an infinite spiral upwards on which the only way up is by learning from our experiences. Well, I don't want to be on the same spiral again. and again. and again. Maybe I'm setting myself up to not feel again, or maybe I don't want my first noticable feeling to be that of longing, desperation, dejection. So, I guess I'm running away. I hate running away. I used to do that so much. I stopped allowing myself to feel because I didn't want to hurt anymore. Now... well... I want to feel. I'm not ready to hurt again.
Today, at my friend's skit, the dispersal song was the one that goes, "Why do you fill me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down?" I sang it as I walked along out of Dwinelle, as I approached Bancroft, as I went to see you. Then, you called back saying that you couldn't meet me anymore. I sang that song the entire walk back home. Ironic, I suppose. It's not your fault that I feel this way -- that I become elated when I hear or see you and disappointed when things don't work out. I know you have your own shit to deal with. And it's not that you're not worth my effort, time and energy. I'm just trying to explain my side: I'm childish and impatient.
All we have is now. I'm not going to waste your now with we's or me's or us'. Your life doesn't need to get more complicated than it already is. I think I'm asking too much from both of us.
I'm sorry.
for interrupting your world.
put out and put away
and so you'd soon be leaving me along like i'm supposed to be tonight,
tomorrow and everyday
there's nothing here that you'll miss
i can guarantee you this is a cloud of smoke
trying to occupy space
what a fucking joke
what a fucking joke
i waited for a bus to separate the both of us and take me off far away
from you 'cos my feelings never change a bit i always feel like shit i
don't know why i guess that i "just do"
you once talked to me about love and you painted pictures of
a never-neverland and i could've gone to that place
but i didn't understand
i didn't understand
i didn't understand
it's not you, it's me
As the past three months have proven to me, I am capable of acting other than I usually would. Considering that I was just at the point where I wanted to cut away from my superfluous relations and actively avoid building more relations, I know that there's something -- no, many things -- about you that draw me to you. But, I think I've run too quickly in the cold, still air such that my lungs sting, I've swum out too far too fast that I'm left in the sea without energy for the way back. I'm tired. Maybe life is cyclical, maybe it is an infinite spiral upwards on which the only way up is by learning from our experiences. Well, I don't want to be on the same spiral again. and again. and again. Maybe I'm setting myself up to not feel again, or maybe I don't want my first noticable feeling to be that of longing, desperation, dejection. So, I guess I'm running away. I hate running away. I used to do that so much. I stopped allowing myself to feel because I didn't want to hurt anymore. Now... well... I want to feel. I'm not ready to hurt again.
Today, at my friend's skit, the dispersal song was the one that goes, "Why do you fill me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down?" I sang it as I walked along out of Dwinelle, as I approached Bancroft, as I went to see you. Then, you called back saying that you couldn't meet me anymore. I sang that song the entire walk back home. Ironic, I suppose. It's not your fault that I feel this way -- that I become elated when I hear or see you and disappointed when things don't work out. I know you have your own shit to deal with. And it's not that you're not worth my effort, time and energy. I'm just trying to explain my side: I'm childish and impatient.
All we have is now. I'm not going to waste your now with we's or me's or us'. Your life doesn't need to get more complicated than it already is. I think I'm asking too much from both of us.
I'm sorry.
for interrupting your world.