Friday, July 15, 2011

I'd rather lay right here

sometimes it's a smell
but most of the time it's a song

I'm not even in love with you but I love you
and I'm not even in pain over you
but it's painful
when I think of your face, your lips, your cold cold heart

It's like we put a lock on that fence
but I can't seem to make it to Paris
to dive to the bottom of that river and find the key to set myself free.

the last memory I have is you eating a stale muffin.  I was wearing black.  You peddled away.  I didn't cry that time.

I don't want that.  I want everything before that.  Those old plans for the future.  California.

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