I can’t write about me from your point of view
I have no idea why you do what you do
This means I’ve never ever really known you
How come you can’t just say, “Yeah, we’re through?”
It’s not your fault you want to keep the door open
I’m obviously the one who should get up and close it
But until I better understand your prognosis
Here’s hope for the hoping
Although actually anymore that’s not true
I long for the days before I ever met you
That way I’d never have tried to know who
I am at all from your point of view
How come you don’t see silence makes a sound too?