Sometimes I like to pretend you’re still with me and that we talk and do all the fun things we used to do…You’ve become my very own imaginary friend…

Sometimes I pretend you’re still the same person I knew, and I talk to you and goof with you like we used to…but sadly, I always end up talking to an empty side of the bed…

I’d take a bullet to my chest a thousand times if it meant saving you. But…you’re the one who shot me…

We all have that one person who’s our vital support. We could easily take all the crap life has prepared for us as long a that person is there, because they make us stronger, better… But when that person decides you’re no longer a priority you are left heartbroken and defenseless, and suddenly you realize maybe you’re not a strong as you thought you were…

I gave you all I had, every heartbeat and ever tear… You stabbed me in the back and left me in the cold. And it’s not the knife or the cold what hurts, it’s the fact that it was you who did it that kills me…

I only mattered when there was nothing better to distract you or entertain you…

It’s amazing how life plays this sick twisted jokes on me… hasn’t it been enough ?

Do you think you could please stop hurting me ? I can take it from everyone else but not you…

Everyone used to tell me that there was nothing magical about life, that it was sad, hard, cold, and that you had to strike before the others, and for a while I stayed optimistic…but I’m starting to believe they were all right. It’s just that I want to believe so badly, I need it… I need to believe there’s hope and loyalty and kindness and love and happy endings out there, otherwise what would you fight for, stay alive ? that’s it ?

I’ll drown my sorrows on slow tempos, bowed guitars and high pitched alternated falsettos that sing in a language that you don’t need to know to understand…