You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real. You are words and convoluted emotions. You are fiction. You are my life written out, my dirty perceptions, changed, modified, embellished. You are moments that I cling to and thoughts I wish I had or things I should have said. You are mistakes and confessions. You are practice. You are issues worked through or ripped apart. You are my broken heart in pieces, unfixable, unavoidable. Why did I write you? Why did I write you? If you were paper I would tear you apart, I would throw you in a fire, I would watch you burn. You are not a diary. You are not a journal. You aren’t truth or reality. You are my greatest mistake.
What came first: The writing or the misery?
You are a crutch, a red flag, a buried time capsule. Words. Just words.
If I could go back, I would never write you. If I could rewind.
Tegan and Sara – Come On