I used to think I'd make you
fall in love
with me

but now I know,
as I fold my
clothes
and I pull my
denim jeans
over my
thighs
(I think they've gotten bigger)
and I brush my hair, that's
coming in blonde again
(I need to go get a box of
dye)
and I can't seem to find my
glasses
again

that there's nothing
I could have ever
done
to make you fall in love,
could not have done to make you fall
in love

with endless months of
rain
and another grey
spring:

you were bound to
fall in love with me
and there's nothing
I could
have done to
start
or stop it.