You and I, we can smile while we build a prison.
A place that we can decay decades of our lives.
A little house along the bay that's built on good decisions.
Two glass half full people without whiskey, without wine.
Just simple ordinary lives that we are happy living.
Who knows? Maybe simple lives are worth a try.
But you and I are not like ordinary men and women.
Our shattered hearts fit like a morbid puzzle, and I realized that I hate you anyway.
And now I will spend the rest of my life recovering.
I guess I'm still in tact.
I guess I'll never trust again.
And I know that it hurts that we are still best friends.
So here's to living on Life's terms.
I guess I had to die that day to realize sometimes love and death feel exactly the fucking same.
I am so alone, and I would love to know when life stops being a series of lessons, and becomes a reflection of my growth.
I am so alone.
I kinda like being alone.
Who am I to love myself?
I'm okay.
Is this something detrimental to my health?
Or am I just a fucking danger to myself?
And can I count on this being one way to go three months straight, just dying for five minutes alone with you?
Is this one way to go three months straight, just dying for five minutes alone with you.
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