Frostbitten Love.
I'm sitting here, staring at the windshield freezing over. I know how it feels because my feet are going through about the same thing. Waiting on you, like always. Burning with anger and frustration, even in the midst of a snow storm. Didn't know it was possible but here we are.
God I'm always waiting on you. And I feel like I've done this a hundred times, sitting in the car, seething, knowing you're in the house bullshitting while I'm losing limbs. You always say "Oh I'm just going in to get something." Either you've neglected to tell me that you have to get into Cuba to get it, which would take a whole lot of time, or you're just a slow ass. Out of all the guys I picked up, all the guys I hung out with freshman year of college, I had to get the one who takes three days to do one load of laundry.
I'll think these thoughts a hundred times but it will never change anything. Because we both know I'll be here next week doing the same thing. Some people think love is shown in a black and white picture, a rose, that kind of kiss where you close your eyes and breathe really deep, those butterfly feelings, but it's not. Those are the benefits of love. Real love, is feeling like a fucking Eskimo in the middle of a freezing ice box of a car in December because you love your slow ass boyfriend too much to stay at home in the heat. Real love is knowing that you're more likely to get hit by a train than get anywhere on time with him but realizing that, no matter how much you complain, you wouldn't change it, because then he'd be some Type A bastard with a watch stuck up his ass.
Whenever I listened to fairytales as a little girl, saw Cinderella in her pumpkin carriage, I never thought that my carriage would be a broken down Ford with no exhaust and a missing driver but at least I know that when it hits midnight and I become who I really am, you'll stick around.
God I'm always waiting on you. And I feel like I've done this a hundred times, sitting in the car, seething, knowing you're in the house bullshitting while I'm losing limbs. You always say "Oh I'm just going in to get something." Either you've neglected to tell me that you have to get into Cuba to get it, which would take a whole lot of time, or you're just a slow ass. Out of all the guys I picked up, all the guys I hung out with freshman year of college, I had to get the one who takes three days to do one load of laundry.
I'll think these thoughts a hundred times but it will never change anything. Because we both know I'll be here next week doing the same thing. Some people think love is shown in a black and white picture, a rose, that kind of kiss where you close your eyes and breathe really deep, those butterfly feelings, but it's not. Those are the benefits of love. Real love, is feeling like a fucking Eskimo in the middle of a freezing ice box of a car in December because you love your slow ass boyfriend too much to stay at home in the heat. Real love is knowing that you're more likely to get hit by a train than get anywhere on time with him but realizing that, no matter how much you complain, you wouldn't change it, because then he'd be some Type A bastard with a watch stuck up his ass.
Whenever I listened to fairytales as a little girl, saw Cinderella in her pumpkin carriage, I never thought that my carriage would be a broken down Ford with no exhaust and a missing driver but at least I know that when it hits midnight and I become who I really am, you'll stick around.