when i am witty, you are a stone brick wall
and you want to know what makes me sad?
how in my happiest moments i’m not very happy at all
and when i feel brilliant and grand, you transcend me into a downward spiral of feelin’ like I’m a total drag.
i don’t think you really appreciate my witty sass,
even though you say i’m a lovely lass.
and just to top this off, i’ll keep it brief,
if i were another girl, your responses wouldn’t be so curt,
or so it seems to me.
i don’t want to say i’m happy,
though i feel just fine.
there is no sadness, or sorrows dwelling at this moment, inside.
i will always miss you,
it’s just what i’ll do.
but your company gives me a warmth insurmountable to anything i ever once knew.
just so it’s clear,
not out of the blue,
i’d like to spend my time making memories with you.
i will always romanticise everything, that’s the problem with me, i see things the way i wish to see things, if i don’t like something i see i will create something magical out of it, if i don’t understand something i will create a way to make myself understand, i will continue to create these mystical characters i talk to in my mind, i will continue to live in my little own world, and it’s awfully nice, but at times when i doze back into reality i just want to die.