When did the magic in me disappear?
The magic left with the first heartbreak and than another.
Where did I learn to look to the world with such cynicism?
People broke my heart, and than it just stayed broken.
What happened to the girl that just smiled because?
She started to see cracks in perfection.
When did I stop being a romantic realist?
My heart was broken, and all that is left is reality.
That's the thing about romance, you only get together in the end.
Where did I learn to lose hope in another?
I fell in love and somewhere along the way he forgot to love me back.
Why do relationships have to be so hard?
Because the only thing harder is being alone.
I'm never able to conceal my disappointment, although I try.
People are going to disappoint you, I get that.
I kind of expect that,
But what if one day you wake up and realize that you're the disappointment?
I don't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.
Not feeling is the best way to go through life.
The smile I show is all just a facade.
I masquerade in my would-be happiness.
Why did I pretend it was perfect?
I thought pretending would make it somehow turnout right.
Now there's the romantic in me.
Why does everybody lie?
The bad guys lie to get in you bed.
And the good guys lie to get in your heart.
And I'm the idiot that falls for it every time.
Somehow while in the search for the truth, I became the lie.
Why do I go through life whiting-out what I don't like?
Because it is easier than facing the pain.
But when all is said and done,
The fact still remains that I remember the past.
My heart breaks for something I'll never have.
I have a desire to love a loveless world.
In order to live in a world, a I must buy into the world.
You shouldn't wound what you can't kill.
Each day I die a little more inside.
My heart is set to self destruct,
And unfortunately I'm strong enough to live through it.
Why must I understand so much, and yet so little?
That is the burden of analysis.
I don't mind giving my heart to someone,
Or having someone steal it.
Just as long as I know they will love me and take good care of it.
And I'm not quite sure that I trust anyone with my heart,
Or myself for that matter.
They say don't judge a book by its cover,
But what happens when the pages speak for themselves?
Playing it safe can be dangerous too.
Maybe I can only hope to end up with the right regrets.
What good is a thorn to a rose if it does not draw blood?
I sabotage another to protect myself from the inevitable heartbreak.
Has the heart broken become the heart breaker?
