I've found it,
My fatal flaw:
I'm a poet.

I romanticize and attempt to find beauty in the most hideous of situations,
Even when the beauty ceases to exist.
I fall in love with my own ideas and expectations,
To try to block out the reality.

So there it is,
My fatal flaw:
Poetry

I love it,
*but it kills me

I want to believe that you went home,
And thought about me.
And us,
And all of the places we go could,
Songs we could listen to,
And long late night drives that wouldn't be so lonely.

But realistically,
You probably banged some other ******* your couch,
Not even remembering my name,
While I dreamt beautiful things about you.

While all of my friends will tell me no,
I say yes because I can't watch you go.

While all of my friends won't like you at all,
You're quite the catch, and it's worth the fall.

And though I've just met you, I can't help it, you see,
I'm thinking about you, hoping you're thinking about me.

And I'm constantly reminded of what I had,
Constant torture of what I lost.

So many opportunities,
Yet I've never felt so stuck.

We'll travel down the old stone path,
Wondering why these things started to change.
We'll walk along the old train tracks,
Thinking of all the words that we once sang.

And it's so hard to stay so young forever,
School and work and life get in the way.
You're just like the last day of summer,
Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like a day.

We'll run amongst the old beech trees,
And count our blessings, dreading August's end.
We'll sing about another time,
When we can be together once again.

And it's so hard to stay so young forever,
School and work and life get in the way.
You're just like the last day of summer,
Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like a day.