You know my
story.
I’ve been telling it to anyone I could find.
If I would lose you, I’d lose my mind,
over and over agian until next time.
Lights out to expectations.
Goodbye to bad intentions.
There’s nothing wrong with letting go.
I know all about you.
Give me a pen and I’ll write you a book of how we both fucked up,
walked away, got back just in time to make up for the new years.
I send you stationary.
It wasn’t ordinary.
You got it and told me that everything would be O.K.
Next morning came conclusion:
It’s too late to start all over.
(Sorry about the past)
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