I don’t think I’ll ever stand a chance — I want to ask her about you
so much, it makes my heart bleed.
I want to see her view
to describe the butterflies that flock
I want to hear her thoughts
of how she feels when you showed up
Listen to the tiny scream of hers
when she knows you’re here
I want to be her, to be your liking of the sort,
The first thing you wake up to, your ever-good night I was about to ask her of you
But I couldn’t bear to hear
how I could never make you as happy
even if I move mountains near