I think she was onto something,
Not so long ago,
When she told me that the ice in her heart,
Was turning to snow.
Precipitating through her pores,
And her cloudy eyes,
I saw the frost escaping,
Through her sentimental sighs.
She told me that she knew it was stupid,
To seek warmth in the arms of another,
But the fire inside her only burned,
Everytime we were together.
She measured time with music,
And rubbed my tired palms,
Spent six hours everyday,
Writing bittersweet poems.
And she talked about books,
The way the weatherman talked about the weather,
As if she knew it all so naturally,
As if she had all the answers.
I knew I could make her smile,
But it wasn't the permanent sort of thing,
I knew I'd have to break her heart,
And it was a crying shame.
Because I looked at her,
And saw everything I was too scared to want,
She said that if I wanted, I could love her,
And I told her that I can't.
She was drunk that night,
She wouldn't have said that if she wasn't,
She knew better than to keep childish fantasies--
She knew what we were and what we weren't.
So when she finally said,
Over a slice of pie and coffee,
That we'd dragged on for too long--
It was time to set each other free.
I only blinked at her,
But even I had to face,
That the beautiful girl sitting across from me,
Was far too good for second place.
