Shouldn’t it always be,
That what you really want, is not what you will ever see,
The flower that will never bloom,
Comes from sun that will never be.
So what?…that I will never need you,
Isn’t that the point anyway?
Maybe we won’t talk for months,
But I will still think for all those days,
Maybe those dimples just make it so simple,
To say only here what I wish I could say,
But I know better,
We both know better, no?
A genuine high is worth ten thousand lows.
I’m almost steady, so I think that I’m ready,
This dip I will extend, indifference I’ll pretend,
I think that I’m ready,
I’ll never be ready.
Ironic I find, that I love only those,
No sense, in holding on, or letting go,
I guess it’s enough that I’ll never forget,
Those that I gave me without a regret.