I cannot romanticize anymore,
For my brain is fresh out of 'bright blue eyes' and 'kind smiles,'
Forcing me to look behind the beautiful smiles,
And understand that I can't have you.

I cannot romanticize anymore,
For that rosy shade of optimism has faded from my glasses,
Forcing me to look at people closely,
At who they are,
And not who I'd like them to be.

Knotted little flowers strung through her hair, like a daisy chain. Each bud, a different innocence to prey on.

How did something so lovely turn so lost?

Maybe I'm caught up in what used to be.
Maybe I'm stuck in what never was.

It's late.
Don't waste your time,
Not on me.

I know you think I'll come around.

I won't.

It's late.
Don't waste your time,
Or at least not on me.

I know you think you're in love.

You're lonely.

It's late.
Stop wasting your time,
Please, not on me.

I know you think you know me.

You don't.

So please,
It's late,
Don't waste your time on me.

Caught between what I'd like to do,
What I can do,
And what I'm forced to do.

Oh god, where do I even begin?
Maybe with his eyes.
Blue. Bright blue, staring into mine. And yeah, he's on the stage, and I'm in the crowd, but they're blue. Bright blue.
Maybe with his hands.
Skilful. Elegantly skillful, over the keys, the strings, the drums. And yeah, he's on the stage, and I'm in the crowd, but they're skillful, elegantly skillful.

Maybe with his mind.
Maybe with mine.
Maybe with how we think alike,
Or how I feel like he gets me.
And yeah he's on the stage, and I'm in the crowd, but he knows and I know and if only one of us would stop being so shy and awkward and just talk to one another.

I've fallen into this hole on my own.
Don't kid yourself,
It'll never happen

But I can't let go.
*Where do I even begin?

I'm not one to wear sweatpants in public.
It's not like I shame others for wearing them,
Or that I don't enjoy the comfort of that fuzzy inside part,
It's just there's something ****** enough inside of me that prevents me from exposing this level of comfort outside the safety of my home.

So if you ever see me in sweatpants,
Assume that all hell broke loose and that something went terribly wrong.

If I look mad:
Run.
Don't even consider stopping.
run
I bite.

If I look like I haven't slept,
Well you're probably right,
I probably haven't.

And if I appear to be sad and/or (probably) crying,
Don't talk. Just be there and listen to me complain.
And if you're having a 'sweatpants day,'
I'll be there for you as well.

I keep telling myself that I can do better,
While wondering why I don't.