Rejected love is why I'm really sorry you just couldn't be nicer, more considerate, not so, well, mean. It's a humourous and sentimental account too (in years to come, at least). It's a collection of emotion without evidence (most of all). It's sitting there telling you that I don't hate you, still; desperately needing to kiss someone, anyone, else, just to get a certain taste of you off my lips that isn't even there or even anywhere, now, other than memory.
Listen, don't hold your umbrella over me I think I prefer the rain.
No, I don't want your jacket, I'm not that cold.
I'm sorry, mate, it's all just too fucking late, I can't see you again. |
