Love Song #1026
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Sunday, June 20, 2004
Hooray for you. You made it to number three.
In the middle of the kissing and touching (all he has wanted) she pulls away with a simple request of, "Wait."
He stops and straightens his shirt, checking his hair in the rearview mirror. Silence soon follows.
He places his hand on her knee, figuring she had no logic behind stopping. He leans in again, hoping against hope that they'll quickly get back to where they'd stopped. Just before their lips meet, she whispers, "What was your mother's name?"
He leans back with a sigh, "Why?"
"I just...I'd like to know something about you."
"My mother shouldn't matter to you."
"It's not your mother I want to get to know. It seemed a good question to ask."
He doesn't want this. He doesn't like to explain things; the things he's done and why he's done them. Or worse--who he is.
"I don't really want to talk about my mom. She wasn't the best."
"Fine. Tell me something else."
"Well, right now," he looks at her as he speaks, "I'd like nothing more than to kiss you."
He smooths her hair only to have his hand slapped away.
"Don't you get tired of kissing?" She glares.
"You're the one who won't let us get past that."
"I don't mean that way, asshole. I want to be close to you. Why...why don't you want to be close to me?"
He sighs again in hopes of gaining time, maybe an answer that won't sound so romanticized.
"I don't want closeness. I don't want some television-sitcom, 'Honey could you pick up some milk?' relationship."
"Okay. I'll bite. Why not?"
"I want...I want passion. I want a great passion where my world has crumbled and I have to turn to you. I want you to save me. I want to save you. I want passion. Not a 21st century bullshit coupling."
He feels his passion, it was visible in his features, his eyes. He turns to look out the window. He has gotten so animated about this topic, so alive that she can't believe it's the same boy. She leans over with her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.
"Passion only grows the longer it's resisted. Keep that fire in your eyes until the sun rises and see what happens."
And this...is number two. Way to keep up.
It's one o'clock and the record player spins enough Paul Simon for years to come. Her bed goes cluttered and unmade; she's a rabid fan of the mid-afternoon nap. Her walls are covered with posters bearing messages and face which she'd tear down if she only met the right lover. Toys are strewn around one corner--the childhood she never had. A collage of pictures; friends, lovers, family. Her favorite one receiving the honor of a frame--her grandfather, laughing that laugh she misses every day. A stack of pages tall enough to reach the ceiling sits, divided by the unmade bed. She's got all the flaws of a writer. Her stories begin nowhere and end perilously close to their beginnings. Her favorite line ever stating, "Shadow puppet smiles can't last forever," sits below every word she's written. It was a mere statement made in anger by a friend she'd loved. Not anymore. And she sits, among all she's known, and she waits. She goes about her routines and activities. Yet every day, she ends up here, in the middle of the floor, waiting for her perfect. Waiting for you.
The three things I've written. Pay attention, ladies and gents. This is number one.
I feel beautiful at night. Those nights when the rain falls so heavily that even the thunder cannot be heard. When it's rhythm matches that of the stars swirling in the sky, veiling all of the phases of the moon so that you'd swear it was always new. The night-rains bring me inspiration so pure and brilliant and wonderful. At times, it's not logical to do the things I wish. Not wise to open my window and shout your name so that each and every drop of water can bare witness to the love I hold inside. Not sensible to lean out enough to wet my hair or clear my eyes. But I can't always be logical; I never claimed great wisdom; I've not been known for my sensibility. So here I am, window open, legs dangling out, rain pouring in. The lightning strikes in the thicketed area behind our row of tiny houses, but I am not frightened. I climb out and dodge the bushes, already soaked through. And, in the midst of deafening rain, busy stars and an anonymous moon, I stand. Running my hand through my hair, I look up, and with a prayer to anyone who's awake at this hour, I whisper my love for you. In hopes that you'll requite me or that the rain might allow me to float away with the sound of my voice over thunder.
Friday, June 18, 2004
Part One. Effing LJ people.
Exactly thirty-three dandelions fit into that vase. Thirty-three. It seemed a number of ill tidings. But as Tynan looked around him, he knew nothing could be wrong this night. It was the time of afternoon where the sun barely peeked over the city skyline, smiling its final rays over the inhabitants while the moon rose in the east. The corpses of rejected flowers littered the front step of his apartment building. Tynan had debated over carnations and roses and lilies before finally spotting the patch of dandelions by the yellow fire hydrant. Other than the park, Tynan suspected it to be the only greenery in all of the city of London. He had been carrying a bouquet of (at the very least) twenty different flowers when he stumbled upon the brilliant golden thicket. As if commanded, Tynan dropped his bouquet, scattering stems and buds across the stoop and sidewalk. And he remembered.
"Ty," she whispered, rolling to drape her arm over his shoulder.
"Hmmmm?" He turned his head slightly, not wanting to wake.
"Do you know what today is?" She ran the tips of her fingers along his arm.
"Mmmmm," Tynan replied with his face in the pillow. He genuinely despised waking so early.
"It's the first day of spring," she murmured into his ear as she began to tug the sheets away.
"Mmmhmmm." Tynan tugged in return.
"That means," she continued, propping herself up on her elbow, "that you, Sir, must go get me a dandelion."
"Are you crazy, Lena?" Tynan mumbled, burying his head underneath his pillow.
"Emmm...perhaps. However, I must have my dandelion within the hour, Ty."
"Or what?" He growled from beneath his cushion.
"Or I dissolve into a million shards of light and the stars collect me and take me with them."
"Err."
"...And you, dear fellow, will never see me again." She nodded.
Sitting up, Tynan rubbed his eyes, "Ah, but if you were collected by the stars, couldn't I just look up to see you, love?"
"My dandelion," she replied tritely.
"Yeah. Your dandelion." He kissed her cheek quickly before pulling on his sweater. After lacing up his shoes, he stood and looked at her, dreamy look upon her face as she stretched across his bed, under his blanket.
She smiled sweetly before closing her eyes and whispering her love.
Smiling in the sunlight, Tynan began to climb back up the stoop. That day, the first day of spring, he had gotten Lena her dandelion. He'd had to travel the distance to the park just to pick one flower. When he'd returned, she lay asleep, clutching his blanket. After having tucked the dandelion into the hair behind her ear, Tynan sat on the edge of the bed and realized with a shock that for the first time, he truly loved a woman. Two years later, he knew he could never love another. It was simply fate that the clump of dandelions now grew so near his own door.
Since Livejournal won't let me post it as a whole...sheesh.
Ascending the stairs inside the building, he recalled how she woke.
He sat reading the paper as she slid into the room. Sipping his coffee, Tynan glanced up with a raised eyebrow. There she stood, in all of her glory, bedsheet wrapped round her, lazy loving smile spreading across her face. The dandelion was now wrapped around her long index finger.
"My dandelion," Lena stated carefully, as if he would object, "My favourite."
He stood and slowly crossed the room. When he was a mere foot away, he stopped and nodded, "Aye. Your dandelion."
She looked away, suddenly very shy around this man who had journeyed so far for this simple wilting flower.
"I don't understand," she began, "how so many people can claim this a weed. Why would you not want this? Why...each tiny petal sprays forth the very sunshine we so love. It has more beauty than the rarest orchid. Mere roses pale in comparison to splendor such as this!"
Tynan fought the grin he felt coming, but was helpless to stop it. Reaching over, he gently wrapped his fingers around hers, so that the flower was soon intertwined with both of them.
"Even in death the dandelion pulls rank," she continued as Tynan wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, "It's selfless really. As it wilts, its seeds appear, soft and white. And with no thought of it's own demise, it grants a wish to any who blows the seeds away."
Finally quiet, Lena looked up at Tynan. He smiled at her so that she knew she'd been understood and it would all be fine. He pulled her completely into his arms and kissed her forehead.
Upon reaching the fifth floor landing, Tynan opened his apartment door. Clearing the table, he placed the vase of dandelions in the center. He opened his cabinet and removed his wine glasses. Tonight is it, he thought as he laid the small red box beside the dandelions, in front of Lena's chair. Tonight he'd find out if he would spend his life with her. Or alone.
Then came a knock on the door. Tynan wasn't sure if he was ready for it, but he turned the knob with a nervous grin. Two men stood outside, each yielding a badge on his belt. Tynan's brow furrowed.
"Are you Tynan Gareth?" the one in front asked.
"Well, yes sir, but...What seems to be the problem officer? I don't recall doing anything today..."
"I'm...terribly sorry to inform you, but there's been an accident. Miss Lena Ross, a friend of yours, was in her car on 21st when a truck struck her head-on. The paramedics tried, but there was nothing they could do..."
Tynan would have listened to the rest of what the policemen had to say, but after stumbling to the table and grasping the dandelions, he didn't hear much.
They say on that day, the most brilliant flash of light was seen. Not once, but twice. Once in the middle of a car collision, though some reasonably claimed it only shards of broken glass flying. Once in a fifth floor London flat. Skeptics believe the man simply went ballistic and was shot by the police at the door. But believers...they say the stars came down to collect his pieces, to shine in the heavens at night with his beloved Lena.
Friday, June 11, 2004
Did you know that you save me?
Every time I am sure you will falter,
I fear you'll turn and never face me.
But there you are again,
Rescuing me, saving my drowning soul
Once more with eyes filled with such light
I doubt them.
For with eyes so dark as my own,
It is difficult to believe in anything.
Anyone.
And the light you display does deceive.
For you seem so like a child to me at times
I find myself laughing simply at your innocence.
Then you stun me, and develop with more grace
And maturity than all I've met.
You cause me to wonder at times.
I forget of your childishness and I am afraid.
Because my life is thrown to the wind.
I could bring it down with the weight I carry,
And I hope not to, but I appear to have no control some days.
You though.
You with your simple joys and ease in all.
You can do whatever you like in your time
And I've no doubt you'll succeed.
You offer me your hand, to pull me out of my
Grown-up depressions, my youthful selfishness.
You offer me your friendship.
And I know not what to do.
So here I am, deciding that
I do need a friend in all of this.
But already I know this is the one time
The light in your eyes dwells nowhere near
And the hand you've extended has been severed.
The aquaintance, the friend, that child I knew.
She's not there anymore.
Call it a sacrifice to the Fates.
Current mood:  crappy Current music: Hail to the Chief...watching the Reagan thing on TV
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Emma Parks (1981-2004)
She handed out sorrow in packages.
They came in various sizes,
Each tied with the quaintest red bow,
Letting the recipient understand
That the received package was, in fact, sorrow.
She handed out understanding in boxes.
They, too, changed lengths and weights.
Each was sealed with violet wax, the insignia,
Allowing the gifted to acknowledge
Their gift as understanding.
And so she paced, to and fro,
Tossing out feelings here and there.
She never told the truth though.
No, these emotions were false, to be sure.
She only gave the people
Just what they wanted.
Though her own smile soon faded,
And she died young,
Having no real purpose to live.
So? Anything to say? Hope so. Let me know. Bored to tears. Literally. Give me something to be happy about. Or even angry. It'd be better than this.
*Heart*
Current mood:  blah Current music: "...And the wind SCREAMS Mary..."
Monday, June 7, 2004
I believe that for now, I'm going to go on hiatus. I killed my Xanga because I was inspired. I know I can quit that. Very few people there matter. (I said very few. Don't go getting offended. Sheesh.) I have to have somewhere to post writing-type-stuff though. So I'm not killing this...yet.
Monday, May 31, 2004
Why do I feel so happy when I have a hat on and my headphones over it?
No clue. But I like it.
*Heart*
Current mood:  mellow Current music: Jamie Cullum
Thursday, May 27, 2004
So I wrote something...and it doesn't make much sense. I guess the things in my head can change. The guy in the story goes from one person to another...like separate people. If that makes any sense. Call me soon Kenny. It's about Friday.
The waiting room was empty today. The walls were a cream color, sharply contrasted by the red couches and chairs. The opposition was meant to soothe, but only made me think of blood. The blood of my grandmother for whom I waited, the blood of each of the people I watched achingly lumber through that door. There must have been an exit on the other side, for none of them returned through this entry, which only frightened me more. The receptionist shuffled papers and used the phone in an attempt to appear busy or important. I think she confused the meaning of the two. The TV blared in the corner, a too-happy chef showing some too-happy Asian girl how to make soft-shell crab. I really wanted to die in that moment.
I laid back on the blood couch and looked out the window through the beep of the telephone, the incessant giggling of the soft-shell Asian, the glare on the glass. The sky was turning dark and the clouds were moving too fast. Or maybe I was just motion sick from lack of motion. My stomach growled. I'd forgotten both breakfast and lunch so far today. Well, maybe not so much "forgotten" as "intentionally put off." Whatever. At least I wasn't motion sick as I'd thought. Lately I'd taken to drifting off and imagining things. Suddenly, you were sitting in that chair, directly below chef and company, your legs crossed in that perpetual manner, staring at me as you held my Reader's Digest in your lap.
"Motion sick?" You had spoken. No way.
"Excuse me?"
"Your excuse to yourself is motion sickness?" You glared incredulously.
"I never said that," I protested.
"Look," you began patiently, "I'm a figment of your imagination. That means I'm privy to what goes on in here." Suddenly you were on my blood couch (under me to be exact) with my head in your lap. You tapped my forehead to reinforce your point.
"Maybe that's why you sound more like me than yourself."
"Ding-ding. Give the lovely lady a prize."
"Well, I mean, it's not by choice. It's just, I can never predict you," I replied as you looked down at me.
You brushed the hair from my eyes and smiled, "Someone has to keep you on your toes."
I closed my eyes, enjoying human contact. When I opened them again, you weren't you. You had changed. Your eyes were a different blue...and your hair was perfectly straight, but it hung in your eyes. I laughed.
"What?" You smirked.
"Just never thought I'd be laying on your lap."
Without a word, I was upright and you sat beside me, your arm around me.
"So this is what you had in mind for us? Pretty lame..."
I shrugged, "Guess I always figured you were more gallant than you let on."
You laughed. "Yeah...well...I'm not," you declared and poked me in the side. Damn reflexes. I giggled like the soft-shell Asian girl and looked down. When I looked back up, you had changed again. Your hair was shorter, and a bit darker. Your eyes were a hazel that changed with every word. You were an inch or two shorter. I scooted away a bit.
"So what is this? The Christmas Carol only not? The not-so-ghosts of the boys I've loved?"
You laughed your awkward laugh then rolled your eyes the way you always did with me. I never was sure what that meant. I just kind of figured you thought me dumb.
"We couldn't afford the title of that one. Copyright infringement and all," you laughed again.
"No...really."
"Why are you asking me? I spontaneously appeared from within your head! Figure it out for yourself!"
With that you grabbed my hand. I always hated the way you did that. It meant nothing.
I looked at you again, back as you had started. Unlike the others, light hair, light eyes. Sweet. But not right.
This time you faced me, only inches away. I could feel your breath, and found it ironic that my heart was skipping a beat while we were in a cardiac specialist's waiting room.
"But this doesn't change anything," I whispered onto your cheek.
"No. It wouldn't in real life either," you murmured sadly back. You gently kissed my cheek then pulled away an inch. "You're even cynical in your daydreams."
"Not cynical," I replied, "Just realistic. You couldn't love me anyway."
You disappeared. The room returned to normal and my grandmother re-entered through the front door. She told me all about her new condition, the polyps in her kidneys, and how she was afraid she had kidney disease. Then she laughed and told me she was never going for a check-up again.
And inside, I balanced it all out. My grandmother had love, and at 78, was finally getting sick. I had no love, and at 16, was finally getting over being sick.
Current mood:  cold Current music: Some rap music on the game Clay's playing.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
So apparently, I make people feel like crap. Whoa. Life goal achieved, huh? Whatever.
.Backseat Fantasy.
The breeze off the water is cool against my face. I can't pay attention. Both windows open, flying down the road at top speed. I drift back.
The doorbell was unexpected. I had remained locked away in my room, still safe. Cracking the blinds, I peered out. I didn't recognize what I saw. Our three cars, plus one shining silver in the sun. I heard my brother coming down the hall. I leapt for my shoes and flung myself onto my bed.
He appeared in my doorway, which I could feel though I didn't look up. "Ready?"
"Yeah." I tied my shoe.
"'Sit okay if my friend comes along?" He stepped aside and for the first time in weeks I saw you. Amazing. A laugh erupted from somewhere within me. You smiled. I faintly wondered why I ever fell out of love with you. And when you knew my brother.
We climbed into his car, flying across town and back again. Each time you held the door for me. So polite. And each time I thanked you; you ignored it as if thanks were nothing necessary and you'd done it all your life. But you didn't used to.
Stumbling into the back of the compact for the final time, I had a faint daydream of holding your hand. Then, I laughed at the simple thought that once, I would have given anything for that moment. Now all I had was a backseat fantasy.
Now, as the cold breeze blows my hair, I look forward. I catch your eyes in the mirror, smiling. We've both grown so. You look away. I drop the grin. I continue drowning in my thoughts. Thoughts of nothing in particular occupy me in attempts to not think of you again. I gaze upward once more. This time you hold the look. Ah, simple eye contact is beyond my childish experience. I know not what it means. But I do know that, even after you look away, I am content to just watch you through that mirror. All afternoon, a smile playing my lips the entire time.
Footnote: Despite it all I say I still don't want him. He's very inconsistent with love.
Current mood:  angry Current music: Take me Out--Franz Ferdinand
Saturday, May 22, 2004
10:10PM
Quick.
Fill in words
as soon as they come to you.
Introductions
are unnecessary.
You don't need to know names
when souls are so
obviously connected.
Idly chat through the wait.
Make ourselves seem important,
but not enough so I can
know you.
Why talk
when I can look at you
from across the room?
I saw you watching me.
You glanced away too quickly.
I was going to smile.
But the opportunity fled.
Outstretched before me,
endless summer.
Farewell good sir.
At least until autumn finds us
darker,
and I don't come back.
Current mood:  nerdy Current music: Coheed & Cambria--played in my head through Clay's show
Sunday, May 16, 2004
The Battle for the Better Name
And so he stands,
head in hands;
defeated,
though he's done no wrong.
The battle wages on
around him.
And his shoes,
with their thick white soles,
are soaked red with the blood
of friends and lovers.
The thick white soles
wearing thin,
faintly remembering white.
Brilliant colors play
through his mind,
hoping for, praying for,
begging for
an ounce of innocence.
He can't recall
that phase of being.
Another shot rings out.
His head raises,
more slowly this time
to witness the present execution.
He cares less with each blow,
knowing
there will be no survivors.
She falls to the ground.
She has no weapon,
no sparring words.
For this time, she isn't
the guilty.
She's had nothing to do with
this war.
But she'd stood no chance
of making it home either.
The wound in her side,
however painful,
she ignores.
Looking up with empty eyes
she has a memory
of simple times,
talking all day though not face
to face.
She misses it.
And with her last breath
she whispers short words
to no avail.
"There is no replacing love."
Friday, May 14, 2004
She loved movies.
Millions of films that would take her
Out of her place and
Into someone else.
She hated lies.
Untruths that could deceive all others
Just to save oneself
From what they deserve.
She liked the rain.
Tiny drops that would explode on her skin and drip down.
Finally something that would change for her.
Instead of the other way round.
She loathed poetry.
So many words could only be
Rearranged so many times
To convey the same feelings.
She watched movies.
She told lies.
She stood in the rain.
She wrote poetry.
She was beautiful
In the way that beautiful
Used to actually mean something.
Current mood:  thoughtful
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
This is from March 23rd. My math was bad...you get the point.
I'm sorry. But my choking words aren't good enough. Not now. Were they ever? "Love." A statement you use so frequently. Too frequently? Are you convincing me? Or yourself? Even your train-wrecked diary...was cryptic and cloudy. I made no sense. Was it a monument to my childishness? My naivete? Or my cruelty? My utter desire to keep myself covered just to keep you shut out? That was never my intent. But I can offer no explanations. I was the intruder. The alarm sounded when I cracked the pages...whether in my head or across the field. So sure that all could read my face, my guilt. So sure that my sin was too great, my tresspass too expansive to ever be reconciled. But you...your shoulder-shrug and simple inquiries. Basic requests of "Don't cry anymore." I couldn't cease. My tears unleashed, the army containing too many soldiers to count. But it was my war of attrition. I outlasted those bastard combatants. All that's left is a month. Four simple weeks and I may finally be rid of thought...at least for a while. Days of emptiness could easily outweigh these emotions I'm so very accustomed to. And I long for those hours of nothing.
I want to post something else...From yesterday...not necessarily what you think it may be...but to each his own interpretation. I stole the opening and closing words (in quotation marks) from a play in my lit book.
"Aren't you lost?" I ask, concerned.
Your life doesn't seem to be
Going anywhere to me.
Your eyes travel up,
Landing on my own.
You smirk in a way only you could.
So sure of yourself.
But still unsure of me.
Always unsure of me.
Be afraid, boy. I'm unpredictable.
I flash back,
To one day
A month ago.
You just come up and
Hold my hand.
Be afraid, girl. I'm unpredictable.
And I am happy.
Then you let go.
I should have known.
I love you. I don't want to lose.
I'm tired of being wrong.
"I wasn't going anyplace in particular," you reply.
Current mood:  listless Current music: Overthinking--Relient K
Saturday, April 17, 2004
A kiss to the corner of the lips
And one to the neck.
One slightly above your eye, just south of the brow.
Furrowed, afraid to allow this.
Feelings rushing.
You refuse to open to me.
To anyone.
No, to me.
But you don't see
My own brow struggling.
Keep it straight
Remain cool
Never betray.
My heart is splitting
Defenses falling.
Never.
Reinforcements are on the way.
The head won't stand for it.
Having protected for lifetimes
It won't let go so effortlessly.
The heart is easily won, away to a word and a whim.
But the head behind it will battle incessantly, preventing my gift of myself.
That really wasn't for anyone I suppose. It was just...I'm not sure. I had it though.
Current mood:  artistic Current music: The sounds of the best movie ever...
Friday, April 16, 2004
As much as I wish I could, I can't imagine what it was like. I want to feel it more than anything. I want to know how it was to look into Your face, Your eyes. And I know I have so many times...a hundred times a day. But knowing You must have been different. I wish I could have been there. But that's okay. Because You did what You did for me. I hate that on so many levels but I love You so much for it. You have more of me than anyone else. And I can say that so honestly...I've never been proud of myself before. But I can be now because You are proud of me. I love You. Every sound in my talk and every step in my walk. It's for You. And it will always be. Amen.
"Can we start again?
I've been living to see you.
Dying to see you, but it shouldn't be like this.
This was unexpected,
What do I do now?
Could we start again please?
Could we start again?
I've been very hopeful, so far.
Now for the first time,
I think we're going wrong.
Hurry up and tell me,
This is just a dream.
Oh could we start again please?
Could we start again?
I think you've made your point now.
You've even gone a bit too far to get the message home.
Before it gets too frightening,
We ought to call a halt,
So could we start again please?
Could we start again?
Could we start again?
Could we start again?
Could we start again?"
I had to do that. I'm not so sure why, but it was on me and I had to get it off. It happens from time to time. This time it was on me publicly as opposed to every other time. I apologize if I offended. I hope your weekend is grand and I love you. Always, always.
Current mood:  thankful
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Dandelions
Way back in Once Upon a Time time,
I think I could do anything at all, if you
didn't seem to mind the way I cried.
The important thing about a daisy is that it is white.
He's so sensitive--
couldn't even see the dandelions
just a little differently.
I am afraid.
They set on the porch and hung their feet over the banisters.
They couldn't stand to see
for the love.
Agatha's hair--
it was a buried treasure.
You could go as fast as the wind, but
to prosper they must follow their own hearts.
I feel the strength.
Folks would probably think you were Big and Bad too.
Everything comes from something.
But
Someone is fixing old toys,
Someone is planting a tree where one was cut down.
Maybe it is you.
I am committed to love you.
...a series of completely incomplete thoughts...
You're turning into my rumble. I know you can feel it, but your Superman complex is kicking in. You think you need to save us. You're so sure...let it go. We both need to understand that we can't control everything. I don't understand why there's always someone who's better suited than me. And you. You just don't understand me anymore. We couldn't stay how we were. It wasn't good...we both saw it. Don't try to convince me otherwise. As much as I hate it, we can't turn back time. As much as you hate it, we have to change some time. "I never lead you on." Your insistance, my objection. You did everyday, whether you realize or not. And I'm not here anymore. The girl you knew no longer resides here. The boy I knew was already gone. He left a long time ago. I just held on to him. I held on to the way he used to be and the way he made me feel. There's no love. Not really. Not really.
LOVE TO YOU.
Current mood:  loved Current music: "Roses" by Outkast
Friday, April 9, 2004
7:39PM
And you know, I think it'd be okay
If I never heard you say
That you love me again.
I've had about enough
And it's getting kind of tough
Since each time is less true
And more transparent.
So who is she?
The newest girl-to-be?
And just what makes this one
Better than me?
And how can I fix these feelings
So that I'm not concealing
Everything and nothing at the same time?
Is that your exact expression?
Or did I get the wrong impression?
'Cause I won't stand for it if it's not.
I'm going to disappear
And you're never going to hear
From this sad, jealous fool again.
So don't you bother to worry
Because I'm in no hurry
To feel this way again anytime soon.
Current mood:  groggy Current music: Fastball...good stuff...yeah.
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