summertime sadness.

if we thought things were bad then
then what is now?
this inescapable prison of pain
oh, the recycling of broken hearts to the wrong hands has left me
tired and weary
and you're mine to care for
though i myself have made you my responsibility.

i finally allowed myself to cry for you while i
listened to sad, sad love songs that made me think of you
and of us.

your broken heart is one i cannot mend
but i will go down in flames before i allow you to sink in yourself
i'd walk one thousand miles just to press the tip of my finger against your smooth, sweet skin
to touch the one who has made me feel more than life itself.

and though everyone has warned me that love is pain
i fling myself into its endless abyss just to show you
that this flimsy little four-lettered word
is the only way i can express everything i feel for you without talking myself to an early grave
because though i'll never believe in fate
you're it.