Three months have passed.
I can't say I'm still where I was back then,
but I can't say I've moved much further either.
You, on the other hand, are miles away from "us".
You've moved on, and so have I.
Then why do I still miss you when I go to bed at night?
Why do I think of you when I just wake up?
Why do I get butterflies in my stomach when we talk?
Well, not really butterflies.
Maybe moths or larvae since the feeling is no longer pleasant.
You have him. I have no one.
I have nothing but my pillow, my pen and my words.
They tangle up in psychodelic dreams and wicked poems.
None of them making sense, much like me in this world.
Illusion is broken. Hope far, far gone.
Our promises gone with the wind.
I drown in a mask I built for myself to hide from my demons.
If they don't finish me, this mask sure will.
There's no win.
So who wins in a breakup?
The one who moves on faster, or the one who does better?
Maybe the one who does both, and, dear, that's not me
because I've moved on, but *I can't forget how to love you.
Moving on...