My mind never belonged to me. It belonged to the ocean waves of the sea.
Bessie McCoy Davis in a photo for the Broadway Musical “Miss 1917” produced by Charles Dillingham and Florenz Ziegfeld , 1917
Why so you can overreact and do nothing but tell your mom and friends and everyone that ask? You know how annoying that shxt is? Not having privacy for the most secretive moments that should be kept private?
No I’m not going to tell you. You won’t offer a hand. You won’t offer help. You won’t offer comfort. You’ll just make me feel even more alone than I already am.
Just leave me alone. Make it easier for both of us and stop pretending we’re friends. Stop pretending you know me. Stop pretending you have any idea about anything.
He’s different, yet the same
Unique, yet so plain
Positive, yet so negative
How could you being everything and nothing, only he would understand
I know nothing, but I want to know everything
What makes him tick, what drives him mad
What makes him smile, what makes him laugh
I want to know him better than he knows himself
Know how his mind works and all of that
Most of all I want him to hold my hand
Comfort me and provide warmth
Give me compassion and all that jazz
I don’t know I guess that’s all too much to ask
Because we would never be
If I could only see
How could we ever be
When he doesn’t even know me?