Look him up and down and can't help but wonder why I'm comparing myself to stories of what use to be.
And what I never was, or have been it's a jealousy issue I can't come to terms with.
If I can't be the one to make you forget about everything, like you do for me, why do I bother holding on?
I don't know what to make of this mess we call my head.
That’s why I keep telling you I don't know what's wrong.
Maybe if you'd just stop saying his name I'd stop being so insecure.
Because you see, the one thing I keep going back to is that I just want to be more than anything he ever was to you.
The pressure is making me crack retold, I've heard this one before.
These steps are where I'm told I'm right.
Warm nighttime walks holding what seems to be cold hands.
It stuck out like a sore thumb when it rolled by and I know you saw it as well as I did.
Being in this place makes nothing easier I hope you know and sure that year must have seemed like a lifetime.
The last one of eighteen; I guess that would be hard to toss aside pushing those words down is hard to stomach.
All this leaves a bad taste in my mouth.