Give me all the wrong kinds of attention and convince me that I need it.
Dont promise me tomorrow but at least let me hope for it.
Convince me that my facade is good enough for you for as long as I can keep it up.
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Tell me youre scared of losing me but keep me on my toes.
Despite what you tell me, I know its not really your mom that youre texting nonstop.
Before, I was getting the hangover kind of heartbreak.Painful, embarrassing, gut wrenching, head pounding.
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The kind that comes after poor decisions, which is what you were.
A poor decision that I made over and over again.
But I guess one day, I just got tired of all the bile.
Make me feel comfortable, natural, reliable.
Dont give me any kind of attention because I dont need it when I have a presence.
Dont promise me anything because your actions exempt you from providing something so empty.
Let me tuck my insecurities alongside yours in your top drawer.
Convince me that my baggage isnt as heavy as I thought.
Tell me about how much you love your brother over a cup of coffee.
Tell your mom I said hi when she calls.
These days, Im ready for the daily, gentle kinds of heartbreak.
Subtle, aggravating, frustrating, annoying.
The kind that comes from life doing its thing.
We both have a good sense of humor though and we know that these obstacles will be short lived.
For once, you wont just ask me what my favorite book is.
Youll ask me why its my favorite, which is all Ive ever wanted to tell anyone.
These days, I think I can have it and I can give it.
