I'm often distracted by you.
A fact that's concerning, it's so true.
I feel your hand and fingers wrap around my neck and...squeeze. It's a comfort, really—like a cool breeze.
In your arms It's often the height of summer for me,
So I'm hot in ways you wouldn't believe...
I feel your breath on my body, breathing me in.
A warm caress on skin you made sensitive to your touch. I love you and hate what you do to me all at once.
Please...I beg you because I want to be free. Or at least when I feel those things I think it's me.
Pulled in every direction, "you and I" becomes we.
Fuck, I love you.
So much that I question if I really know what love is—if it's really a drawing on my soul or because of all the things we did.
But then again, that couldn't be it...
I think of you too much and consider you too well, and everyday I think back and wonder where I fell.
If this started as obsession and ended too well;
or, well enough.
But I don't know...I don't see you wearing off.
I feel you even when you aren't here.
My love for you is tainted by fear.
I lose a bit of my self when I give in like pay per view...and after—every time—I pray to God he lets me keep you.
Mistake after mistake we continue to make
So I wonder if He may push me to escape.
Maybe...but I'd fight to stay...because I feel you when I close my eyes.
I feel you I'm sad and need comfort.
...when I'm afraid, worried, dismayed or encouraged.
I feel you when I'm excited...like I'm eager to get to the next chapter.
I feel you on me even when you're not here.
It kills me with unconditional love-formed spears.
I show up early just to see you walk through those doors.
I often laugh in my head that I love you more.
In all honesty, there's nothing you can do.
I have a feeling I'll always love the phantom you plus you.
