i am weak.
let me start this simply -
not an exaggerated beginning, perhaps
not going to be a good ending either.
but it is true,
the wind has spoken
the fact have stated itself;
i am, truly, weak.
when the waves rush to attack you
or the storms present itself to take you away
dearest, i will fight until there's no skin against meat,
no voice for a story,
no dust of oxygen stored in my lungs -
but if she'll dance ballet to Chopin
and seduce you when her laughter captures sunlight,
i won't be able to take your hand
pull you away,
make her disappear.
she and you shared a history i can't touch,
and a connection i couldn't smear away (i tried, i tried)
through the glances i steal and the next of dawns
before the coming of evenings, i am scared that our story
couldn't match the one you shared with her.
because i am complicated under my white schoolgirl uniform
and i cannot accept the love we're silently requesting,
for i am afraid for my heart (just like you didn't when you gave it up
so if we're speaking straight to the point,
all i'm trying to say is: i cannot fight for you if i'm up against her
god, grant me a thousand scenes but if it's Her, let me withdraw myself
and creep my existence away.
because she can grant you things i couldn't -
like glittery moments of candy-apple tasted kisses
(it's poisonous, but at least it's something).
she's not a saint,
but she's an adventure i could never be.
so don't ask me why i didn't fight for you;
i already told you. i am weak.