Coiling round the telephone wire.
Seemless, where does one meet
The other's end?
Incessant ramblings into the answer machine.
Nothing, speaking with heavy eyes
Call me
If you get this?

She doesn't know you like I do.
She doesn't know the real you.
The you that has a cute little birthmark just above your right elbow.
The you that has scars trailing up and down your left arm
from those times where your world was spinning so fast,
you just couldn't handle it.
The you that is beautiful without even trying.
The you that gets drunk every once in a while, loses control and goes insane.
The you that has adorable toes.
The you that has that tattoo on your left shoulder to show
that you don't settle for anything less than what you deserve.
The you that always has to shower the morning after ***.
The you that once sat in front of an oncoming car
speeding towards you,
at 75 miles per hour,
because you didn't think you were worth living for.
The you that picks at your nails with your teeth.
The you that has to vigorously brush your teeth after making love.
The you that is searching for a person to make a home out of and lay your heart in.
The you that bats his eyelashes and blushes easily when pretty girls brush past him.
The you that is 17 years old and still hasn't started shaving,
because your parents no longer trust you with sharp objects.
The you that once played the sweetest melody my ears have ever heard,
but stopped when you found out that Mozart had never found love.
The you that just wants reassurance that all of this mayhem and chaos,
is worth living for.
She doesn't know you like I do.
And I know that nothing is guaranteed in life,
but baby,
I promise you,
that she doesn't have a **** clue who the real you is.
She doesn't know you like I do.

It took him years to stop loving her,
For the impression of her eyes to fade.
There'd be dreams and nightmares,
He'd see her around town.
He could never really move on from her perfume, the colour of her eyes in the morning, sunlight bouncing off her figure;
The way her nose crinkled as she laughed.

I am not the sophisticated underdog,
I trip and fall through door frames
Always unannounced.

I am the wavering circle,
I give myself away too early in the game
Always a red herring.

If you still loved her you'd tell me about how her nose crinkled when she'd laugh like she could love the entire the world, and how she liked the yellow of sunflowers because they'd remind her of what it was to be healthy; how she was set to be nothing like her parents yet was still fragile enough to breakdown in a hospital bed; her spontaneous singing. What it was like to hold her in your sleep.
You'd tell me how you miss her reaching out for you; how sleeping alone made you worship the summers when you heard her laugh billowing in the wind like her skirts, dancing in the breeze:ablaze.
But time does that sometimes,
You don't love her anymore.