You would think it’d stop after all these years.
Some things become routine, but the things about you haven’t quite sunk in.
Maybe it’s because I think there’s still a chance.
Maybe it’s because I think that I haven’t tried everything.
I’m not sure what it could be.
I wish I could point right at it so I could work on getting over it.
It isn’t very easy.
Bogus reason, right?
It’s the only thing, though.
It’s complicated, probably because of me. Maybe because of you.
That doesn’t matter as much.
What matters is I can’t move past it.
You walk past me, and I still get nervous.
Your eyes see mine, and I get red.
Butterflies, I think, is what they call it.
If you do a quick Google search, you’ll see that usually fucks with your stomach.
So what do you call it when the butterflies sneak up on my head?
And now I can’t think clearly.
Whatever you find, please let me know because I can’t find the cure.
I can’t be the first to feel this way, so what does everyone else do?
The silence kills.
The noise kills.
Maybe kills is a strong word.
But whatever it is, it drives me crazy, so now what.
Who am I kidding? I like the nervousness.