Gray hairs on Sweaters

In my mind you’re the finish line.
My fantasy has always been slightly different from yours
Mine has a lot to do with us being together in the mornings
and not just at night… but I’ma fix it…
Even though I can’t force your hand.
I’ma fix it.
In my mind you’re the trophy.
Unfortunately
your fantasy of us doesn’t even have anything to do with me
Anybody at all could cure your loneliness
Too bad I want you even when I say I don’t
In my mind you’re the Pharaoh.
Of course I wish I was attracted to Doctors or Princes or even someone that felt reciprocally…
But my fantasy includes you, a pretty boy who self deprecates and runs from me.
I’m even doomed in my own head.
My heart is so comfortable being broken over and over again
But I’ma fix it baby…
In reality you’re the starting line gunshot.
Gently remind me, the next time that I reach out to you because I will, lord knows that I will…
that you’d rather be lonely than be with me in real life.
It’ll sink in eventually, I swear.
In reality you’re a participation ribbon.
Too bad I’m in love with you and there’s no hope
But I’ma fix it baby…
In reality you’re just a mummy of somebody nobody recalls.
And as soon as I find something more well suited, somebody more receptive to crave
my fantasy simply has to change too
because I can’t force your hand to do anything but the right thing
leaving me alone…

 

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