I still wonder, was I just an idea? A nice thought? A distant comfort?

I hate that you're gone.

You made me feel like myself and I was happy to be in your inner world.

But there's always something hidden. Why?

I shouldn't guess at anything. I don't know what the truth really is because you find it redeeming to not hurt me with it.

And sadly I'd open myself to you again, because of the rarity of a heart like yours.

You're wrapped in barbed wire now. I can't touch you and I won't chase you. You exist in another world, you always did. And I was always just a pretty thing you knew you'd let go, you knew you'd hurt.