I planned it well, I had you wrapped around my finger, but still you linger in my head, oh god to be dead without the dread of seeing you again. I'm scared to call and ask for my things, the pain it brings, the sweet jagged pain of your voice, it's my choice, and I can't make it, fake it, shake these thoughts. I can't.
Your friends tell me you dyed your hair, I liked it fair, black now, thats what they tell me. Did you do it just to spite me? fight me? Whatever that way might be, gee, i love thee, not to get all sappy but I do miss being happy, i hope you are, you and your raven hair.
(It needs more, i just haven't figured out what yet.)
