Fits of sleep. Nothing. He tells me I cross bridges torch in hand. Everything falls neatly in with the black/white entourage. Yes/no. That's all I want to hear. If you're making me wait. If you're making this easy. He tells me to leave a little room for hope for everyone. Makes it easier to accept. But I can't accept. Because we'll maybe this to never. Will we ever be together?
"Maybe. I don't know."
Funny how those simple lines just recur. Rewind, repeat. You told me that you loved me. You were begging me to love you. You were begging me to end this. You told me to fuck off and die.
"Home is where you make it, Love. Don't get yourself confused."
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