They don't know heartbreak like I do - they don't know you.
Can you love yourself more than you love me?
In that moment of high, I say of course, and you smile.
(Why ask a question you know the answer to?)
You are caffeine and I- I cannot take it but it's you - it's you, so I drink it all: the scalding, the vertigo, the- oh, the bittersweetness.
But loving you is wretched and crime-ridden and a hiding-the-body kind of nervousness.
It's like angels tearing apart their own wings and devils doing acts of kindness - it's wrong, it's wrong.
I say I'm better off without you but I'm still making fires out of the things you've said to me just to stay warm.
I say I'm done here but I'm still waiting for you to ask me if the moon is beautiful. (It is, it is.)
I hang my heart under streetlights and let it burn - ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I am not lying when I say there is no other ending.
See, this is letting go - this is me (missing) letting go of you.