I saw a tight rope act where the gymnast was afraid of her own confidence
And she wobbled and then sustained
And she knew from then on that confidence is just a masquerade for pain
I wish I could see her face but her mask hid more than her circus name

And there her hands were, her frame, calling me forward
I told her "I'm not a gymnast," and she grabbed me
I looked beneath me, and I found the floor
She said "Neither am I."

Where has my mind gone to
Killing time in your room
Reading your books and the notes you left too
Looking into your eyes and finding truth
Getting lost in the cosmos with you
Crossing legs, crossing arms, I wish I could convince you
But I'm just here with my fingers crossed instead
Listening to some stupid playlist you gave me, and it means more to me than the rest of this stupid world