Maybe It’s too much to ask, to take me back| to against the wall, where you had your back.| Because now all that's behind you is me.| Maybe it’s My fault for pressing you| And this is just what you had to do,| But if so| why must you be so cold?| I remember our best moments| in the warmth of the summer| But now all I ask is| how have you become... her?| You used to taste like Orange,| vibrant and nostalgic. A comforting summer day under a willow tree.| now you taste like yellow,| bitter and tense.| a false security, Uncertainty, uncomfortably idling under the surface.|