𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟷𝟽, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟻 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

I guess it’s a little too quiet and I can’t sleep. I wish someone was up and wanted to talk to me.

Not just anyone though, sadly but greatly I’m picky. Many will talk to me, but none I want with me.

I guess it’s a little too quiet and it’ll be like that for awhile. I wish someone wanted me and not just to reconcile.

Although with you I wouldn’t mind. To talk about anything and everything if it meant I could have you for awhile.

I guess it’s a little too quiet and I have no where to be. I wish someone wanted to be with me.

In the future, to have and to hold. No ring or papers are necessary, true love begins and ends in the soul.

I guess it’s a little too quiet and sometimes I don’t want to be alone. I wish someone would choose me, no matter where I grow.

Seems a little desperate, I know. It’s not desperation if I’m willing to be alone. Risking my heart is not a risk I will take, but with you the choice is evident no matter the stake.

I guess it’s a little too quiet and I’m in my head. I’ve made it comfortable here but still wish you were here instead.