No matter how bad it’s gotten,
I’ll remember the mornings right.
I’ll get the coats and
you get the water,
get in the car
and drive it a yard and back.
Is this good, is it?
Get me out.
Could we live in
separate houses?
That would be nice,
‘cus I’m tired of living,
but you said, lying,
“trust me, like, I’ll be fine”,
but could you be happy now?
I guess nothing happens now.
Drifting at sevens,
every effort wide,
the way we were heading,
not exactly ascension, right?
Everything led you on,
so would you be willing to
kill me for real this time,
or else we’ll be on again, off again,
Ross-and-Rachel-ing life,
so could you be happy now?
I guess nothing
happens now.
We could be living now,
but we won’t admit it out loud.
