I love this.
Some times I wish this would simply go on.
When we talk and make sense of the world.
You make sense of my world.
And I used to make sense of your humor.
There was always something behind it, wasn't there?
You never said anything that didn't mean something.

I got so paranoid about talking to you when we were done.
Lord, you still to this day still reply,
Yet, I think you hate me?
Huh, we are funny.
But that's all you needed, to make people laugh.
To distract the world from who you were.
But I saw through that mask.
I actually started to get you.
And you got scared.

I don't know who made up a better story, you or me.
You, for saying that you didn't get scared.
Or me, for saying that I never cared.
That was almost a perfect rhyme.
That's also how she saw us.
The perfect match, you and I.
Maybe that scared you more.
That she approved of me.
She thought I was good for you.
But you had to be right.

I can't wait to hear why we ended.
I doubt I'll ever ask.
Maybe one day I'll get up the courage.
But for now I'll be content talking about *******.
And you'll go along with it.
I mean, it already happens, often.