Because time won’t stop for you. It won’t stop for anyone.
The awkward moment when someone likes you and you don’t feel the same. Vice Versa.
I just wish you’d appreciate me for once.
The Mad Hatter: Have I gone mad?
[Alice checks Hatter’s temperature]
Alice Kingsley: I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret.
All the best people are.
Nice hot showers; I can’t quite explain what it’s like for me, to only hear the pounding of the water drops hit the bath tub floor, to watch the steam fog up the mirrors, and to feel the immediate rush of warmth on my skin as I slide the shower doors closed. Just like the covers of my blanket, it acts like a port key, to all things familiar and intangible feelings. Soap sud beards, signature Alfalfa hair, and air guitar jamming in your best birthday suit. Comfortable with one self, and on a more literal note, in your own skin. I plug my ears with my fingers, close my eyes, and hear the thundering of the water drops raining down on my head.
Reality. Insanity. Dream. Peace. Serenity. Sanity. Reality.
And just like all things in life, if there is a beginning, there must be an ending. I wring out my hair; a water droplet lingering on my finger tip. I look through it, magnifying the few inches in front of me. I watch it fall to the ground, knowing I’ll never get it back. The moment was short-lived, but well worth it all. I wrap myself up, turn the door knob, and it’s like nothing ever happened. Another day goes by, and I’m still me. But I will always have that port key, and for that, I am grateful.
Kate Nash says all the things I want to say to you, in her lyrics to Nicest Thing.
I’ve only seen you a few times in my life, but many times in my dreams.
You have this mystery to you. The kind to die for. My friend Vivian saw me cover my face with my hair, raving about you like a crazed fangirl.
I would probably get lost in that brilliant mind of yours.
You’re a sweet, sweet heart killer.
I’ve blogged too many times about you, it is getting ridiculous.
People question who you are. I tell them about you, of what I know. They say we’d be perfect for each other. And I reply, yeah, I wish he thought that too.
I know my heart’s not ready for a relationship yet; I’m a complete mess. That’s why I wait. That’s why. And if you fancy some lucky girl in the process, well then, I won’t mind so much once I see that she makes you happy.
I don’t know why I make exceptions for only you. Like I wouldn’t mind if you were another heart ache. Because it’s you.
I’d be the reacher, and you’d be the settler. And some may say, well that’s not right. You’re the girl, you’re supposed to be the settler. And I’d reply, you don’t know how beautiful he is.
He doesn’t know how beautiful he is.
He probably never will.