I can't be with you, I can't be without you, what am I supposed to do? I've found that life is a series of small, dark rooms: inside each is a hundred different versions of me, and inside me is just one never changing version of you.
I like to visualize a misty, ethereal forest with you and I alone in it.
Nothing lasts a lifetime, and a lifetime is really just a blink of an eye, that's why I like to fantasize. Everything is ephemeral.
I fall in love all over again with everything, everyday. Soon it will all be gone, but for the time being I've got a lot to give, so much that my heart strains from the pain and beauty of it all. I feel like gossamer in a burning field, and you're the one who dropped the cigarette on such a dry day. Is there any good way this can end? Did I ever tell you I'm tired of staring into the sun?
I've yet to come to terms with the fact that we're dying in this life, and that sad song we sing is a melancholy symphony expressing all our pains and sorrows at this brief injustice called life. We've been robbed. We've been treated unfairly. We deserve more than this.
I glance up and meet your eyes from across the room. I recognize something in them, but then I glance back down and pretend it didn't happen. It's like this every day. It can never be any other way.
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