I spend the majority of my time writing love songs for nobody
because I do not love you, but rather who you are not.
And when we gamble, neither of us can break even
But something about you, something about the
way you kissed me; louder than a summer storm, softer than the spring rain.
Still it's strange to think to myself, "no one has me like he has me".
I have such strong feelings contained within such
an empty heart; but it is fragile, small:
if you wanted, you could tear it to shreds with just your hands.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
I spend the majority of my time writing love songs for nobody
because I do not love you, but rather who you are not.
And when we gamble, neither of us can break even
But something about you, something about the
way you kissed me; louder than a summer storm, softer than the spring rain.
Still it's strange to think to myself, "no one has me like he has me".
I have such strong feelings contained within such
an empty heart; but it is fragile, small:
if you wanted, you could tear it to shreds with just your hands.
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