I've become sad.
But I don't want to be.
It's inevitable.
It burns to see everyone moving on.
And becoming something new.
While I'm sitting here waiting for you.
I grab the knife.
In spite of myself.
But immediately set it down.
Cause it must get better somehow.
You seem mad.
And cast a cloud.
Of emotion that hits me hard.
And I can't seem to see the end.
But it must be near.
