I wonder what it was that made you love me. Or if it was in my own head. I'm better off now. I'm with someone who loves me and I love her back. But something keeps chipping away at me from the past. Likes shards of broken glass melting in my flesh. I've dwelled on it for far too long. The sense of humiliation never lets go. Never remind me because I never forget. It's always there burning in the background of our lies.
I don't know where you went to. I should be happy of disappearances because you made me nervous. I felt just like a girl, always waiting for you to make the first move, I forgot what gender I am. You know it's silly but it kept me brimming with an eager sense of love. Or of longing, I think I can tell the difference now. It wasn't love you wanted, I was just an amateur psychiatrist tending to your neurosis.
It seems funny that I feel like I'm cryogenically frozen in time just at the mere mention of your former location. But even then, the closer I got, the further you seemed to get. I guess it didn't matter. I wish I could forget you. She's getting tired of you. The more she tries to understand, the more it irritates her. I can't blame her. I shouldn't think of her or myself as someone's leftovers. But I feel so brittle, the only thing that gives me any satisfaction is that you'll die some day.
Living in your city for two months has left an impression on me that my wildly stupid idealism could not hide. For months I could see the roads that led to you. The nights filled with chicanes of neon lights. The thought that I should have gone on the train with another girl from Munich. She might have broken my heart but at least she would've done it nicely. As nice as would be possible. Just to see her in a black and white striped top. Smell the perfume of her clothes. To think of a life I could've had if you let me in. These days, I'm getting closer to my dream of being with the one I love. Even if I don't have too much money.
You see I love her more than I could've loved you. I'm afraid I'll lose her, my old apprehensions come back to haunt me. I know she loves me but I can't take that for granted. I always want her to be happy and I'll never willingly harm her in the process. She makes me feel like a child again. I feel empty without her. Everything I've ever felt with her makes me feel like I'm doing it for a good and just cause. Though it all comes back to you. You bludgeon me with the feeling I lived a lie. Worse that I created one out of my own head. We spoke the same language differently only with misunderstandings from start to finish. If I could legally kill you I would. Rid my conscience of you and your doppelgangers.
Finally I want to live alone with my lover, my wife, my joy. I no longer want to give her the impression that she's second best or a substitute for another. I want to be a perfect lover for her. I want to be hers and hers alone and I want to let her know that she's the only one for me. I'm blame my perfectionist outlook if I make her feel bad. She'll always have my devotion because it's more than just love.
In Central Europe, my dreams are reborn.
I don't know where you went to. I should be happy of disappearances because you made me nervous. I felt just like a girl, always waiting for you to make the first move, I forgot what gender I am. You know it's silly but it kept me brimming with an eager sense of love. Or of longing, I think I can tell the difference now. It wasn't love you wanted, I was just an amateur psychiatrist tending to your neurosis.
It seems funny that I feel like I'm cryogenically frozen in time just at the mere mention of your former location. But even then, the closer I got, the further you seemed to get. I guess it didn't matter. I wish I could forget you. She's getting tired of you. The more she tries to understand, the more it irritates her. I can't blame her. I shouldn't think of her or myself as someone's leftovers. But I feel so brittle, the only thing that gives me any satisfaction is that you'll die some day.
Living in your city for two months has left an impression on me that my wildly stupid idealism could not hide. For months I could see the roads that led to you. The nights filled with chicanes of neon lights. The thought that I should have gone on the train with another girl from Munich. She might have broken my heart but at least she would've done it nicely. As nice as would be possible. Just to see her in a black and white striped top. Smell the perfume of her clothes. To think of a life I could've had if you let me in. These days, I'm getting closer to my dream of being with the one I love. Even if I don't have too much money.
You see I love her more than I could've loved you. I'm afraid I'll lose her, my old apprehensions come back to haunt me. I know she loves me but I can't take that for granted. I always want her to be happy and I'll never willingly harm her in the process. She makes me feel like a child again. I feel empty without her. Everything I've ever felt with her makes me feel like I'm doing it for a good and just cause. Though it all comes back to you. You bludgeon me with the feeling I lived a lie. Worse that I created one out of my own head. We spoke the same language differently only with misunderstandings from start to finish. If I could legally kill you I would. Rid my conscience of you and your doppelgangers.
Finally I want to live alone with my lover, my wife, my joy. I no longer want to give her the impression that she's second best or a substitute for another. I want to be a perfect lover for her. I want to be hers and hers alone and I want to let her know that she's the only one for me. I'm blame my perfectionist outlook if I make her feel bad. She'll always have my devotion because it's more than just love.
In Central Europe, my dreams are reborn.
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