I feel distantly like I’m being used. Kept around when its convenient, when That Person that he loves isn’t looking. Never allowed to get too close, a comfort and nothing more.
It’s odd. I’ve been in this position before, and its never hurt so much.
Something about this. Something about this.
(He says he loves me, but lets face it; I’m not that stupid.)
I’ve danced with her, of course. That I remember.
I’m no longer sure what my intentions were at the time. Did I think I could steal her away? Whisk her into the night? Did I think you’d be jealous, or scared?
I remember very little of the night, but i know I lost whatever game I was playing the moment I saw you there.
Have we ever actually danced together? I find i cant quite recall.
Truth be told, it’s not my style. I’m all about the hesitation, the half second before you take my hand and we both know the game I’m playing.
It’s yours, though. I’ve always known that. Elegant, refined, dreamlike. Down to the core you embody a certain element of classic taste. I think sometimes it’d be impossible for anyone to look good by your side. Certainly it’s impossible for me to.
So instead, I hold out my hand and I wait to meet your eyes.
You, you you you.
It’s been a while since we were last here.
The situation has changed irreparably. We can never really go back. Yet there you are. I see you flitting around, weaving between us and around us like you’re waiting to be invited in. Come now, darling, you know better than that.
you dont, and i hate that i love that.
Would it be unacceptably pathetic of me to call out to you? To pull you back to my side? Would you forgive me for it?
Well, I suppose we both know you would. The real question is, would I?
Everyone is so beautiful all the time and personally, I have absolutely had it.
Somewhere or another, things went wrong.
She loves me. Where are you? She loves me. We need to fix this.
You’re content to sit and wait and watch.
She loves me.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Eyes in the dark, searching for something just out of sight. Searching. What could it be?
“Peace, perhaps.”
Ah, but peace is just a manner of thinking. Once you close your eyes, stop searching, it’s there. It always has been.
So that can hardly be all.
I’d tell you what I think. But I’m meant to be nicer.
You sit there and I watch as you tell her to her face that you want me. It’s everything I can do to play nice. To be the responsible one. To consider her feelings; because shouldn’t at least one of us do that? It’s not like we don’t all know what I want. What I’ll never stop wanting.
its never going to work its never going to work its never going to work its n
The dust fades. You’re mine. It doesn’t seem real. It can’t be.
and where does she go now
The smell of gunpowder to celebrate. I am starting to love it so.
Sometimes I think she’ll really kill me. Sometimes I think I’d let her. It’d be so easy.
I won’t.
I think about your face, the first time this happened. I think and I hate and I think I hate myself. You’d never let anyone hurt me. I know. I know. If it was her, though? If it was for her?
I stop thinking.
I don’t really hate her. How could I? There’s too much of me in her. We’re nothing alike. Exactly the same. Two sides of the same circumstantially simultaneous coin, tumbling in the air forever. It doesn’t land. It doesn’t matter.
I knew this before she mattered to you.
It didn’t need another facet.
Echoed Refrains 