October 26, 2010
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I can't look at you, cause you see through me,
Showing the world all that I'm not meant to be.
It's spinning around, yet you stay still,
You're perched upon my windowsill.

Push you out or pull you in?
It seems I'm always asking that simple question.
And the answer's stuck out there,
somewhere in the blowing wind.

Do I want to speak my mind?
Or will I let you rot inside (me)?
Because you're more perfect then my mind to tell me in my thoughts,
Where you can be whatever I want you to be.

And we can do what we really can't,
And I can be what I'm really not.
But I’m not... I'm really not all what you see in me.
If you saw, you wouldn't believe,

What I think about the way we dream.
And how I dream about what you might see.
And maybe, you might see me (someday).

But I doubt it, because somehow,
The blind seem to think they know best,
When really they're as lost as I think I am.
But at least I can acknowledge my pain.

I live; I breathe.
I drown in it.
But they don't. You don't. You live.
You laugh. You smile.
You just be...
Because... Well because...
You're as perfect as I want you to be.

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