the music is fleeting, transient, waltzing in the middle of an abandoned church parking lot i know i'm not supposed to remain here fixated on the bite of the chill but i can't help it. i don't love you anymore. we've both known this for a while, but i can't find the righteous strength to let it slip from my mouth i'd rather live in a lie of unhappiness and petaled dishonesty than ever tell you how i feel. i had lunch with him this afternoon he had his guitar and he plucked the songs he knew i would want to hear i'm not saying i could fall in love with him but i can become obsessed with the way he doesn't hide behind false silence in an attempt to make me affirm him. we aren't working you and i between your character of meek silence and apathetic ignorance and mine of bold conversations and tones that would get me kicked out of libraries your gentle touch and my cold tongue we were never meant to be in moderation. i can't write this i can't write this i can't write this not if i can't tell you first.