i have this sixth sense - knowing how things end before they even begin.
those anticipatory smooches, and nothing more.

i could tell you how the sun and moon can never coexist, but i'd bore you.
maybe, in your imagination, they do.

i could tell you how they were not meant for each other, but i'd break you.
maybe, in your secret confession, they really are.

but dreams always turn to dust, and i'm the one left biting the lust.
i could make a list of how you struck the match with your scheming tongue, just so i'd be the one left putting out the fire alone.

maybe one day, i'll get used to it.  
is it something i should get used to?