Something is definitely wrong with this world. I mean, how could it be so hard to just be with you? That should have been simpler than one and one is two, but god, look at me, I’m withering. There should have been just two things here: you and me, and all that’s magical and beautifully sad should have come forth from there. But just look at all this. It doesn’t look like it’s worth a goddamn grimy penny.
Every day, I feel like a protagonist slipping gradually, helplessly to a secondary role, perhaps an anti-hero who may be edited out of the story without any significant change to its flow. More and more, I feel the light dimming around me. And like a graceful moth, you’re starting to fly away to more welcoming luminescence.
Perhaps words like these are to blame. They talk too much and reveal too much about the darkness inside, choking all mysteries. They go on and on and on without saying anything. They rain “I love yous” ’til they spur disastrous floods between us. I can almost say I’m drowning you with them.
Yet despite this — this crazy jungle of ridiculous and murderous obstacles, I know that all I want is to hold your hand tightly. I want us to look up to the starry night sky once again with the wonder of youth and the innocence of two people who barely know each other.