I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
Of kissing a boy, of having enough.
I trust in the process of having trust,
Of flying free like the happiest dove.
I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
But more so in love with all of the above.

“i want to be the air you breath”
  “it's suffocating”

“i want to be the clothes you wear”
  “i'd feel constrained”

“i want to spend more time with you”
  “not everything is about you”

“i want to feel more secure about us”
  “sounds like a personal problem”

“i want to be loved”
  “you're asking for too much”

“i wish i can be as happy as you 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲”

“be happy 𝐧𝐨𝐰”

I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.

i need to stop attaching
your face to love songs
and romanticizing a love
that was never real