oh, renoir

She only hopes for what she knows she can't get, while I'm holding her up from the inside. She thinks that if it can't reach her, it can't expose her as less than perfect like everyone tells her she is.

I won't expect anything. I am not really like this. I have put me off so long. I can't even really fight this cause I have wanted you so long.

And when she reaches for me, it's in fits of longing to express what she can't say, to admit she's not okay. I painted my walls twice the day you left. Couldn't get it right. Just when I think the color's set, the old one bleeds through.

And I can't write, when I can't breath.

Well what does the long run mean, anyway? I don't know why I'm holding on for it, while she takes everything she wants.

Now I won't go anywhere. And she makes me guess what she wants. And I guess lately I want to feel like I'm right, but when she calls me baby

I don't want to hear about your trip. I couldn't sleep at night. I let you make up the rules, but mine stay the same.

And I can't write, when I can't breath.

So I make excuses for this girl I love. And I make her swear she'll never do again the things I want her to most. It is such a contradiction—I want her to say the right words, but she changes all of the meanings cause she's afraid of definition.

I can't make her keep a promise that she never made. I can't make her keep it.