Another Story

I wonder if I can still make the last bus
I’m coming to get you in your faraway town
You always smiled
You were forcing it, and I could tell

I always put myself first
And listened absent-mindedly to your words
I played my guitar
I always absent-mindedly played my guitar

Are you sick of hearing
The words “I’m sorry”?
How should I say it
To bring back the old, tender you?
Right now the bus is passing the old park we used to go to
You flash through my mind

I’m only able to remember our anniversary and such
When my cell phone gives me a reminder
Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration
But it probably feels like that to you

I kiss loneliness
When we make love
You mutter words that make me think you understand
As you drift off to sleep
When morning comes, daily life will rouse us
And I’ll crawl out of bed as if trying to escape

The last bus arrived at your place
I timidly called out your name
You smiled
Don’t force it, but you smiled

Do you still think of dreams and ideals
As toys?
I know it’s not that easy
To understand each other
You’re probably sick of hearing
The words “I’m sorry”
But isn’t it maybe better to keep it simple
To avoid misunderstandings?
No matter what I say
Each day I live with you makes me happy
Yeah, with your smile
Yeah, with your smile

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yeap, não sei ainda o que fazer com o blog.
Ainda mais quando não se tem um vida interessante.