The Peanuts Christmas Music is already playing on the radio It's impossible to grab a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk with out hearing So many memories it makes me so sad to hear The sound of the piano a part of me hears it, dies inside thinking of those times that are gone but were always kind of sad in the first place
But then why does a part of me secretly love this feeling Why does it feel good to be so utterly sad? Similar in effect to the child watching a scary film through strategically placed fingers they do not want to be scared but deep down they secretly love to be afraid Why do we do this to ourselves? And why are most not honest about it? Why are we broken? Or maybe we are not
i. in my dream, you ask me to connect your freckles with my 19 coloured pens. i create the constellations reflected in your eyes. you kiss me. i wake up.
ii. you ask me to play the bars of the same song that made us both cry and shiver on different continents before we knew each other. i leave the airport the happiest and the saddest i've ever been. happysad.
iii. you sing at 3 am at the back of the bus. i sit at the end of the same row. my head hurts from banging against the window while i try to look at the moon, instead of you.
iv. we sit on the tram and pretend to fix all your problems.
v. i sit up at 2 am and cry at my mistakes. i wonder if i make you the happysad you make me.