I went out for a ride trying to find something interesting,
trying to clear my mind off things,
yet all I keep thinking is about you and me;
the way I want it to be and the way it really is.
I don’t know why everything we do feels so wrong.
We’re like a broken record that repeats the same irritating song.
Trapped in a car that seems to get tinier and uncomfortable
and each promise we make floats away in a bubble.
Apparently, our promises are made to fill our empty spaces, the void we feel about each other;
they’re pretentious and boring, heavy with the unwavering longing we have for each other.
I don’t hate “us”,
but right now, I can’t stand us.
Written on February 22, 2003
Composition number: 150