I don't fall in love that easily, but when I do, God always makes sure it ends badly.
Why do I keep hoping it will work, I have no idea.
Why do I keep trying when I know what will happen, I can't say.
I guess I must like the burn.
The burning flesh when his rejection rubs me raw, the fire in my throat when I want to speak the words but he's kissing someone else, the hands crushing my porcelain heart in tiny pieces.
Because why else would I keep on falling off mountains by myself when he promised he'd be there to catch me if I tripped?
And I have climbed this mountain so many times you'd think by now I would get there fine, but there is always a rock, always a slippery ***** I never see coming, and I always find myself alone and bruised at the bottom.
The climb, though, the wind and the thrill and the fresh air and the kisses in the morning and the eternal smiles on our faces and the Crunchy Nut I bought you for breakfast at my place are still sealed shut in a box, along with all the promises you made.
I have lived this story so many times I can almost predict what words will come out of your mouth next, and my open heart might never have a chance to be sealed shut like that pack of cereal full of promises you never opened, because you never took the time to pass by.