I believe in love like wings and all those angel things, even now.
Fall's coming and this time last year I swore I was infinite and now look, I'm so much more finate. You get older and things don't slow down, it's not like it's written and even though you've known it all along it doesn't end so much with true love's kiss. No, your soul already married the one it wanted and now you're here with leftovers; it should be necrophilia the way you touch him when you both feel nothing and your souls are already off wine-dining with wedding bells along side God and his one-less rib army of men.
It's only love but you were always a sucker for the unattainable. And now you're the cynic, now that he's gone somewhere you can't reach. Now you'll marry your Palmer textbook or the Latin words because they will never fail you, the unchanging history and a terminal language. They will never leave you, the groom that promises something a little longer than tomorrow. They bring hope that something will remain even when you're the history.
I don't feel you here. I live in empires and chemistry, exponents and Luther's theses. Surround yourself in books and submurge in essays and maybe, maybe you can forget for a little while.
This is bigger than a fatal attraction.
It's always bigger than you and me.
You left and stole away all my pretty words. Come back to me so I can think easier and sleep a little later on the weekends.
that was how a heart breaks.