And there I sat, twitching my fingertips against the split ends of my tangled blond hair. Make-up on, wearing a dress as clean as a monday morning. I tried so hard to cross his path, but the world was sending me the message merely to look- but don't touch. I can admire, but I can't feel. I pressed my eyes into my window pane last night and let the streetlights be his spotlight as he walked by. But I couldn't leave the front door and walk with him.
I'm a quiet dreamer. I was last evening, I still am this morning. I got myself pretty, timidly walked outside for a moment- hoping by some weird timing of fate he'd walk out too. But he didn't, and I shyed away back inside. And then let my breath fog up the cold glass as I sat waiting for him to drop a cigarette of the edge of his porch. He did, and I watched. It's sounds... sad. And it is. But with each breath I took I hoped that by some source of the wind, he would inhale what I exhaled and maybe hear the secrets I whispered from afar...
I'm a quiet dreamer. I was last evening, I still am this morning. I got myself pretty, timidly walked outside for a moment- hoping by some weird timing of fate he'd walk out too. But he didn't, and I shyed away back inside. And then let my breath fog up the cold glass as I sat waiting for him to drop a cigarette of the edge of his porch. He did, and I watched. It's sounds... sad. And it is. But with each breath I took I hoped that by some source of the wind, he would inhale what I exhaled and maybe hear the secrets I whispered from afar...