An open letter to you. A response not blowing me off would be nice.
I heard about your message and how it reeked of your indifference. Let's get this out and on the table...
Just keep quiet and pay attention.
So sick of being tired and oh so tired of being sick. We're both such magnificent liars so..."crush me baby I'm all ears." And I'm not so sure if I'm sure of anything anymore, but this is the last night that you'll be keeping secrets from me. So obviously desperate, so desperately obvious. I'll give in one more time and maybe we could talk this over, 'cause I could be your best bet, let alone your worst ex. This is all wrong, and it shows. Don't bother, angel...I know exactly what goes on. I can't say I blame you.
Hoping for the best, just hoping nothing happens, one thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins. I won't ever ask if you don't ever tell me; I know you well enough to know you never loved me.
And all of this was all your fault. Despondant, distracted, you've got this new head filled up with smoke. Who'd you call to get this? Is it who I think it is? I stay wrecked and jealous for this. I'm gonna have myself in shambles, up and looking for some answers. Tacky and irrelevent, a permanent reminder that I'm crushed. It's all too familiar and it happens all the time, all the cards begin to stack up twisting heartache into "fine". And I've got a twenty dollar bill that says you're up late night soaking in sympathy from friends who never loved you nearly half as much as me. Home is where you make it. To hell with you and all your friends.
It's too bad it's not my style, if you need me, I'll be out and on the parkway patient and waiting. It's a shame I don't think that they'll notice, dressed in a fashion that's fitting to the inconsistencies of my moods. Maybe I should hate you for this. Don't let it go to your head; all I need to know is that I'm something you'll be missing.
I'm not ashamed but I'm trying...You've Settled for less and I'm sure you'll settle again.
You're getting distant, you're begging for a way to gracefully bow out and say goodnight. It's worse than you think.
I've thought it through, I'm sorry it took me so long. We used to be this dying breed, but I've got a bad feeling about this, keeping in mind the way that it felt when the most I could do was to just blame myself. Just who do you think you are? And that's what got us here in the first place, older and wiser; still filled with resentment. I don't think I'll ever come back. You had your chance.
I never asked for your opinion, I just got it and I get it; I'm boring, stubborn, and melodramatic.
I'm an addict for dramatics, you can tell me you don't bend...liar. This is what we're up against...regrets always work, excuses are better. A practical exchange or a trade for the truth, but you know it never held up (pretend it still could now). The whole truth is nothing but a good excuse, onto something new.
Don't torture me with my past, whatever I was then I can't ever be again. We can't go back...I don't make those mistakes no more.
I don't need you like you think, you could count on me for that and nothing more.
I've gotta hand it to you...be smart enough to keep your distance.
All of my worst habbits, they all are proof that we're both capable of the most terrible things.
"Don't test me."
You know, of the "million things you had to say" sorry just might have found it's way in there some way, some how...
You can't make them want you, they're all just laughing.
Take the time to talk about, think a lot and live without it.
Let's never talk about this again.
Because I...
(Didn't want it to mean that much to me.)
If you only knew half as much as you pretend to.
I give up in you.
If you read it and your name doesn't begin with a D and end in unya, I hope you like Taking Back Sunday and know that I'm not that good of a writer.