every time I wake up without you
is another tiny heartbreak
  but how many tiny heartbreaks
   does it take to add up to one more
noticeable? how many lonely mornings can I...

unpacking my stuff/moving in
I'm leaving 3 drawers and part of the closet empty
so you have room for your stuff and I wonder
if I'll fill them after you leave
or if the space between my clothes
will be a reminder of your ghost


being busy is good.  being busy
means less time to think about ...

I'm going to learn how to ride a bike.
I'm going to learn how to ride a bike.
I'm going to learn how to ride a bike.

I really like the way you look sitting in this bed
with the sunlight creeping through the window shades
and giving you tiger stripes
but you like couches better

"I can't wait-"
but you will.
You don't have a choice.

My mind is empty
I draw a blank
You hold back tears
As I walk the plank

You want to be my savior
But **** if you only knew
I'm too far gone for anyone
Yeah, especially you

I hear buses leaving, cars zooming; I know the time I have is dwindling
I rush to my car, skipping breakfast; speeding there
I see I'm the last arrival there as my car pulls in; too late

I hear doors closing, the bell's already rang once; I know the time I have is dwindling
I have to hurry, I must; I have to make it on time
I groan and slow my pace as the second bell rings; too late

I hear my friends begin to depart; I know the time I have is dwindling
I run there to meet them, sprinting; They think I'm not coming
I yell after their car as they speed off into the distance; too late

I hear your voice, the only good today; though I know our time is dwindling
I try so hard, to say the right things; to not make you mad
It's too late, I've ******* up once again and ruined your night; too late

I hear a click, a slight shift; I know the time I have is dwindling
I want to tell you, I want to say it all; something to fix my mistakes
I choke on my own tears as I hear the dial tone; too late

he doesn't know how
To hold me above water
Like he used to do

I often wonder
Just how easily do a pianist's fingers conform to their keys?
How do guitar strings feel to the talented in comparison to me?
Why are some more gifted as to how they handle a pencil?
And how can a few fortunate souls control their voice to create perfect sounds?
Why do some possess the wonderful abilities of feeling things better than I can?