And I can't quite put my finger on what it is.
Every time I cry,
You assume it's about you, when it's not.
I am afraid
To show my emotions because you're never genuinely
There for me.
I think I must pretend to be happy
When I'm not,
Because you cannot tolerate me otherwise.
I can't remember
The last time you asked me out,
The last time
You wanted to see me or talk to me
For conversation alone.
Something's missing, something's gravely wrong.
Please fix it.
It's evident you're forcing yourself,
You don't care
If we never meet, or if I cease existing,
I feel it
Deep inside, in the same place
The tears are.
Ever wonder why
I always keep saying I have something to say?
Well, I do,
But I'm so afraid of telling you
I love you
Because you think I'm trying to make you feel guilty
Or hurt you
But I just feel like saying it sometimes.
Do you remember how the wife in Last Kiss
Wanted to know
What it felt like to be looked at with love?
Even I do.
I want to know how it feels to be looked at,
Wanted, desired, loved
By you, the only man I've ever loved in my life.
You say it
So casually to me, as if my love is a figment
Of my imagination.
I wish I knew how it felt
To be loved
By you, and wanted by you,
To be yours.
