There are moments when it’s hard to pretend that I’m actually listening to a word you say. My mind drifts away to all the secrets that keep me nightly awake.
But I’m coming to terms, everything ends. December you’re sweetening my impending death.
I don’t want to die in an office and become a burden for my soul. But nostalgia is my state of mind. Living one blue valentine at a time because I know that something broke.
Remember the Saturday afternoons under the sun and in the rain? We didn’t care where we went or if we didn’t have a place to stay. Now nothing seems to be good enough. What have we become? Charring memories.
But I sold myself out to a lie. I feel like I’m being used in this last final try.
I don’t want to die on a subway thinking that I’ll never make it home, when that home never loved me and would have ended up always hurting me. But that’s something I’ll never know.
How can you lie with a straight face? I
don’t want to die in an office and become the traitor of my soul. But every drop of sweat while I play will ease the pain for past mistakes and will remind me that I’ll always have a home.
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