I wake up screaming.

I'll understand your silence. Because sometimes, you'll have to understand mine.

You are a drop of perfect in an imperfect world. And all I need, is a taste.

If it doesn't happen magically over night, you might want to try doing it manually, every day.

Hello. Where are you? Here. Where? Right here. Can you feel that? Yes. That's me. I see. Yes. You feel like me. I am.

You're just another story I can't tell anymore.

Don't be afraid of the world. We're just all the people you could've been.

You constantly look for a sign and when it's given to you and you don't like the answer, you call it a coincidence. There are no coincidences.

In case you touch me by accident. In case you don't on purpose. More hope than heaven (more sadness than soil).

I can look anywhere in the world but at you. And it hurts to look anywhere in the world but at you.

Turn it up until my ears bleed. Let it be the last thing I hear.

You became what you thought everyone wanted you to be. But that's not who you are. And that's who I wish you were.

To wake up next to you. And confirm that the images I saw on the back of my eyelids seconds before, have all been made real.

I burnt my tongue on you. Now I've lost all sense of taste. Or decency.

People will wish you all the success in the world. And then hate you when you get it.

While you weren't listening, all our love songs became sad songs.