Maybe in all my attempts to get ahold of you
I'll finally get ahold of myself

All my little wishes feel more like curses
Shooting stars, 11:11, I haven't done birthday candles since 16 because I know for sure they're cursed
But I never stopped making those silly little wishes
I keep them close and private like an old superstition
Maybe 29 is the year I grow out of it
Since everything I want and wish is a curse
It never works out and I'm disappointed
So when you ask me what I want in life
I don't want a **** thing anymore
The things I crave are so basic and human and wishing for them and wanting them for this long feels like deprivation
It's not that I'm negative all the time
It's just that getting my hopes up is getting old, and so am I

My bubble is rather small
It's sort of a miracle
That we met at all
And I played a little dumb
While secretly wishing
For a home under your thumb
It was never meant to last
Our final day together
Came and passed
But you came back for me
And I turned my world upside down
But I guess I wasn't ready

And now you won't find me again

Because my bubble is rather small
And it's sort of a miracle
That we had met at all

I'm not as clever as might you think
I didn't mean to leave my mug behind
Or my charger by the sink
I didn't plan what I would say
When you would inevitably write me
To return them the next day

I just hope you don't mind my mess
I don't sleep and I'm forgetful
And I can be kind of careless
I don't think I hide it all that well
Maybe if you took a closer look
You would be able to tell

Somewhere in your bed
In your window, under your thumb
Or the thoughts in your head
Pieces of me litter your life
I'm a torn curtain in a stranger's home
You're the robber with the knife

I can't leave behind what you stole
You have those two things with you
Wherever you hid them, my heart and soul