I am so cliché in the fact that I am writing about a boy
Is he lost or am I?
I tell myself it is his decision, not mine
I am the control
Is he the variable?
Am I imagining a variable?
Is he even all here...
I am sick of the half way!
So far way, distance for the distant
I do not dare to tell him this in fear of this flickering flame going out
He singes the soul
White hot, he flashes before my eyes
The first of the second
Instant, in a second
So easy I overthink
My thoughts, I thought
The things you told me about I haven't forgot
What is there left to know
Something you're not saying
Left, right
C
Why?
Tell me when you're ready, please.
