Sometimes I feel like I will think myself to death.
Like the hours in the day might swallow me whole.
All I want to do is to talk to you.
You have these ideas in your head that aren’t true.
They keep me farther away from you.
Love is the most painful thing you’ll ever do.
What could betray you more,
what could make you feel more lonely?
Maybe I should keep my aspirations to myself.
I didn’t want to go for drinks and cocktails.
I wanted to wallow in self pity.
I tried to stay positive among the strife.
But my self was inherently sad.
Poetic by nature, and an inner dialogue I was cursed with.
A profound thought to transform the pain into something tangible.
I deprived myself so long, spending hours thinking
about how you felt about me.
When I’d see you again.
I told you when I was with you, time would stop.
You’d fall asleep next to me and hold my hand,
like you were afraid to lose me.
That if you let go you would just float away.