(no subject)
my stomache turns if i think about it
and i feel bad but i dont regret it.
there are things i miss. hell, i miss it all
but there is nothing i can do about it; we dont belong.
the past is like a room with a locked door:
i dont have the key.
when i look in the window its you i see.
youre so close, seperated from me by just half an inch of glass
but the window is locked, and youre asleep.
its too small of a window for me to fit through anyway
but if i could climb in and lay beside you id kiss your hands and your face.
the strange thing is that i think this is my place,
it just doesnt have a door
and there is someone else here too
who seems to need or want me more
(begging me to leave
he thinks ive been standing, staring for far too long.
i tend to agree).
but while i walk away my eyes stay fixed on you
and close them selves in memory
when your out of view.
it might be my place, i think,
but this is not my house.
im living somewhere in between.
my life's a compromise.
and i feel bad but i dont regret it.
there are things i miss. hell, i miss it all
but there is nothing i can do about it; we dont belong.
the past is like a room with a locked door:
i dont have the key.
when i look in the window its you i see.
youre so close, seperated from me by just half an inch of glass
but the window is locked, and youre asleep.
its too small of a window for me to fit through anyway
but if i could climb in and lay beside you id kiss your hands and your face.
the strange thing is that i think this is my place,
it just doesnt have a door
and there is someone else here too
who seems to need or want me more
(begging me to leave
he thinks ive been standing, staring for far too long.
i tend to agree).
but while i walk away my eyes stay fixed on you
and close them selves in memory
when your out of view.
it might be my place, i think,
but this is not my house.
im living somewhere in between.
my life's a compromise.