it's all different after you're gone. after i leave.
when the lights are on, when the fog's cleared.
you aren't. you aren't a lot of things. you are not much.
i am. i am too many things. i'm not simple.
maybe it should be that way. Lord knows i have enough baggage for two - or more.
but i, honestly, don't think that has anything to do with this.
it's the way you talk so loud. the way you think you know when i'm not in the mood to talk. the way you do things to impress other people, rather than me. the way you think you know what your doing. the way you assume. the way you seem to forget important things yet never drop subjects i'd prefer not to speak off. the way you bring up the past; which i could do well without. the way you just stare at me when i'm thinking, not speaking.
the way this feels-
or rather, the way it doesn't.

why, dear heart, do you attach us to such silly things, making it impossible to do without.