I can never read you.
Nor can the people I gush to about you.
You are so sweet and warm.
But then bitter and cold.
You are so generous and kind.
But then stingy and mild.
You are so inviting and mature.
But then aloof and naive.
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Where do we stand?
And when can I land?
Because right now I’m floating in the air.
On a cloud of what-ifs.
And I’m ready for them to dissipate.
To allow my feet to plant firmly on the ground.
With or without you.
So, do you want me?
Or are you too busy being a man I don’t know.
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 6:58 AM UTC
I can never read you.
Nor can the people I gush to about you.
You are so sweet and warm.
But then bitter and cold.
You are so generous and kind.
But then stingy and mild.
You are so inviting and mature.
But then aloof and naive.
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Where do we stand?
And when can I land?
Because right now I’m floating in the air.
On a cloud of what-ifs.
And I’m ready for them to dissipate.
To allow my feet to plant firmly on the ground.
With or without you.
So, do you want me?
Or are you too busy being a man I don’t know.
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