Why Don’t You Just Be You, and I’ll just be here.
I’m in love with this girl.
She doesn’t really know I exist, and I think I’m cool with that. I don’t think I’d actually like being caught in a small car with her; I don’t think I’d get along with her friends.
I think she’d burn me, like every other fire that’s entranced me, drawn me in.
Is it the damaging aspects I’m crazy about? Is it her eyes, that stupid haircut she has? Is it her body, which makes me bite my lip and twist my head like my neck’s a broken spring?
She’s the opposite of the song where I think I’m too much of a low-life to appeal to her; she’s the scummy one. But I’m fucking crazy about her. I can’t stop thinking about her sometimes.
I write these love notes which sit unsent; “You’re a spaz, and I love you.”
“You want to take some LSD and go walk in the park with me?”
“I don’t even care about anything. I just want to hold your hand. I want to wash you in the shower.”
Yeah, she makes me catch my breath in my throat, and stumble over my own tongue.
And if I can just keep her at a safe enough distance away, I’ll be okay.