I decided on you, don’t you get that? I decided on you. I don’t want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty, or whatever. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I fucking decided on you.
I don’t know why we all insist on being alright,
Fuck, Half of everyone we know isn’t alright.
This is wrong, that’s wrong, I did this, I did that, so on so on.
But it’s the ones who don’t have anything wrong that have something wrong.
Deep inside. Something’s burning.
But nobody ever wants to see that. It’s a divide between those who know they’re broken and those who know they’re broken, but never show any inclination.
An occasional tear here and there,
One or two tears that make you wonder is there more behind this?
A person so broken can show nothing but a glimpse of their struggle.
They choose to portray “I’m okay”
The happiest parties around him should tell the same story, confidence, independence passion.
But yet everyone seems to forget to ask the alright ones, if they’re alright…
The best part of a relationship is getting to call the person, or lay down next to them, and tell them all the crazy things that happened to you all day long. In the end that’s what it’s about. It’s not about sex, it’s not about the money they give you, it’s not about how good looking they are, it’s about them listening to you talk for hours and hours and hours, about stupid shit that doesn’t matter.