As I'm walking along these crowded streets with the rain at my back, I can't help but wonder if you're satisfied. I feel as if I've hit the ground harder than ever. I understand that your telephone lines are busy, but it wouldn't kill you to answer every now and then. It seems like it's been ten years since you've been around. I can still hear your voice in the back of my head, just as a silent reminder to stay pretty. Vanity was always one of your strong points. My patience was always hard to fake. I don't know how I managed. Your words always seemed to flow a little too fast. Now you've got me caught up in all this mess; trying to figure out where your body ends and mine begins. I can't help but notice how good this sin feels. I'm fully aware that you'll be gone by morning. These days often repeat themselves. I keep wishing for a little variation, but that is asking a little much when it comes to you. I've come across so many unfinished sentence. I guess I finally see how little your presence means. I'm sorry if you find yourself offended, but there's not much I can do at this point. You know you'll get over it in another hour or so when you have your next conquest between the sheets. I'm tempted to see what becomes of us, but on the other hand, I don't believe there to be a point. You've made it clear that you'll always be you and I'll always me me. That thought doesn't bother me as much as it used to. I've grown with experience. I can't say that makes much of a difference, but it keeps you at bay every once in a while. I wonder if I can say the right words to get you to crack under pressure. I can't hope for too much. Dreams are for sleep.
