tell myself on the ride home
getting tired, hating all i've known
holding on, like it's all i have
count me out, when it's clear that i
find it hard to say
and you find it hard to care

i'm taking a chance
this could be different
this could be all i'm waiting for

we could be a nice story. you could be something to wake up for and i could be something to make your days worthwhile. i could teach you what i know about love, and when things didn't work out, you'd be my gift to girls(and boys) everyhwere.

i'd pursue this further in my mind this morning if you had more experiance. oh well, someone's gotta fill you in. someone's gotta be first. i just don't want it to be me. molded by too many cold shoulders and unreturned phone calls, i am bitter and nihilistic toward the idea of tomorrow with another. i am alone and i like it this way. and when you go out into the world and become someone's lover, i want you to be their dream come true.

i don't want to be the reason someone else gives up or learns something wrong.

i think i only ever like someone when i can fall in love with my idea of them. you're too real and i know you too well. i perish when i cannot dream, because dreams are all i am.

i do not want that blog entry to be about me. i don't want you to love me. i'll only hurt and confuse the hell out of you.

maybe i only do this to hurt myself. like i can't be happy if there's not the chance that one minute later i'll break down. i don't really know.