Comfortable
"I just remembered that time at the market..."
“Gerard!” you had yelled, laughing as you leapt into my shopping cart, right on top of some frozen burgers, some salad and a bottle of coke, the only items I’d managed to pick up while all the time wondering where you’d run off to.
I laughed with you, and I ran, pushing the cart. Your legs dangled over the edge and everyone was staring at us. It was then the wheels on the trolley lost control and we crashed straight into a rack of magazines. You laughed loudly as they all fell around us; and oh, how hard you laughed when security asked us to leave the shop.
That night, we had McDonalds for tea, because we never got any shopping done.
I just remembered that time at the market,
Snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart
And rode down aisle 5
You looked behind you to smile back at me
Crashed into a rack full of magazines
They asked us if we could leave...
That was my favourite memory of us together. I remember a lot of things from our time together, but most of them were bad, and came later, when everything was falling apart. September. That’s when that all happened...I couldn’t remember exactly what happened, what exactly was said. Oh, I do, but I don’t want to; therefore, I just don’t.
Can’t remember what went wrong last September
Though I’m sure that you’d remind me if you had to
We were so comfortable together, weren’t we? We’d have just as much fun as we would having a party when we were just sat next to each other, watching a crappy movie on TV. I remember little food fights in the kitchen, and cuddles in bed on Saturday mornings when you’d be thankful you hadn’t got to get up and work. I remember birthdays when I’d draw you a picture, and Christmases when you’d burn our dinners and we’d have to go to my mom’s house to eat. I remember that puppy we bought that you took with you when you left...I remember a lot of things.
Our love was comfortable and,
So broken in
This girl I’m with now doesn’t really compare to you at all. She’s gorgeous, admittedly; friendly, nice, clever, talkative, doesn’t pry too much. My friends all smile when she’s around. They think she’s something special, something I should hold onto. I remember trying to start a food fight with her, and she told me off. She doesn’t like cuddles that much, only when other people are around. On the birthdays we have shared together, I don’t even remember buying her anything, and at Christmas, I didn’t see her once. She’s allergic to dogs and she’d rather have a cat; I don’t like cats.
I sleep with this new girl I’m still getting used to
My friends all approve say she’s gonna be good for you
They throw me high fives
She’s Christian. I have no problem with that, I really don’t, but I just remember your views on Christianity. She sleeps with the bible by her bed at her house. She claims she reads it every single night and she’s always going to church. She doesn’t like me to swear, and I’ve never heard her curse once. I remember all the words that’d tumble out of your mouth if you so much as stubbed your toe getting up in the middle of the night. You loved to swear.
She says the bible is all that she reads
And prefers that I not use profanity
Your mouth was so dirty
She likes to party as well. Don’t get me wrong; I do, as well, but she’s always dragging us to parties with all her so-called ‘arty’ friends with obviously fake names who try and engage me in long, drawn-out conversations about politics, world news and things that I’m not interested in as a whole. They all claim to be musically diverse and listen to everything but they haven’t got a clue who I mean when I ask if they like the Misfits. You’d hate those parties so much.
Life of the party
And she swears that she’s artsy
But you could distinguish
Miles from Coltrane
I remember days when we were going to go out for dinner. You’d spend hours getting ready and you were never happy with the finished result, but I thought you looked beautiful, even if your hair wouldn’t stay in place, or your eyeliner was slightly wobbly, or your nail varnish was chipped. Whenever we do go out, she appears at the doorway completely happy with how she looks; not a hair out of place, her eye makeup is perfect and ... she just is. She plasters this smile on her face and she’s ready. It’s so alien to me. There’s no one to hug and tell them they look beautiful. She knows she is already.
Our love was comfortable and
So broken in
She’s perfect, so flawless
Or so they say, say
But things are changing recently. She’s still smiling, but there’s nothing behind the smile. She never tells me she loves me. We go out a lot more now; she says I have a reputation to uphold. It annoys me when people see me wandering down the street with this perfect woman on my arm, because that’s everything I don’t want to portray to my fans. It’s okay to not be perfect, but that’s not how she sees things. It seems like she’s posing for paparazzi photos that will never be taken because the paparazzi aren’t around. She’s so different from you – if we had to go out somewhere, you’d just go out in what you were wearing and you didn’t give a damn, where she seems to think every time we go out she needs to be perfect just in case.
She thinks I can’t see the smile that she’s faking
And poses for pictures that aren’t being taken
I loved you
Grey sweat pants, no make up, so perfect
I began to remember all this when I found the photograph of us outside the market that time when we got kicked out. My arms are around your waist and you’re grinning stupidly, holding the camera out in front of us. Your reddish hair is blowing everywhere in my face, and your own face is beautiful despite the fact you have no make up on and the stupid expression you’re pulling. I’m just smiling. I look content. I felt content. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. I remember the other day when I was out with my new girl. I had the camera, and I wanted to take a picture of us together. I put my arm around her, like we were in that photo, but she rearranged it, so it was a much more fake picture. She asked a passer-by to take the photo, and she smiled that stupid, fake smile she has, showing all her perfect teeth. Her hair didn’t billow anywhere, not like yours did. I hated that picture. It was everything I hadn’t wanted it to be...It was missing the one person I needed.
You.
Our love was comfortable and
So broken in
She’s perfect, so flawless
I’m not impressed, I want you back...
I laughed with you, and I ran, pushing the cart. Your legs dangled over the edge and everyone was staring at us. It was then the wheels on the trolley lost control and we crashed straight into a rack of magazines. You laughed loudly as they all fell around us; and oh, how hard you laughed when security asked us to leave the shop.
That night, we had McDonalds for tea, because we never got any shopping done.
I just remembered that time at the market,
Snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart
And rode down aisle 5
You looked behind you to smile back at me
Crashed into a rack full of magazines
They asked us if we could leave...
That was my favourite memory of us together. I remember a lot of things from our time together, but most of them were bad, and came later, when everything was falling apart. September. That’s when that all happened...I couldn’t remember exactly what happened, what exactly was said. Oh, I do, but I don’t want to; therefore, I just don’t.
Can’t remember what went wrong last September
Though I’m sure that you’d remind me if you had to
We were so comfortable together, weren’t we? We’d have just as much fun as we would having a party when we were just sat next to each other, watching a crappy movie on TV. I remember little food fights in the kitchen, and cuddles in bed on Saturday mornings when you’d be thankful you hadn’t got to get up and work. I remember birthdays when I’d draw you a picture, and Christmases when you’d burn our dinners and we’d have to go to my mom’s house to eat. I remember that puppy we bought that you took with you when you left...I remember a lot of things.
Our love was comfortable and,
So broken in
This girl I’m with now doesn’t really compare to you at all. She’s gorgeous, admittedly; friendly, nice, clever, talkative, doesn’t pry too much. My friends all smile when she’s around. They think she’s something special, something I should hold onto. I remember trying to start a food fight with her, and she told me off. She doesn’t like cuddles that much, only when other people are around. On the birthdays we have shared together, I don’t even remember buying her anything, and at Christmas, I didn’t see her once. She’s allergic to dogs and she’d rather have a cat; I don’t like cats.
I sleep with this new girl I’m still getting used to
My friends all approve say she’s gonna be good for you
They throw me high fives
She’s Christian. I have no problem with that, I really don’t, but I just remember your views on Christianity. She sleeps with the bible by her bed at her house. She claims she reads it every single night and she’s always going to church. She doesn’t like me to swear, and I’ve never heard her curse once. I remember all the words that’d tumble out of your mouth if you so much as stubbed your toe getting up in the middle of the night. You loved to swear.
She says the bible is all that she reads
And prefers that I not use profanity
Your mouth was so dirty
She likes to party as well. Don’t get me wrong; I do, as well, but she’s always dragging us to parties with all her so-called ‘arty’ friends with obviously fake names who try and engage me in long, drawn-out conversations about politics, world news and things that I’m not interested in as a whole. They all claim to be musically diverse and listen to everything but they haven’t got a clue who I mean when I ask if they like the Misfits. You’d hate those parties so much.
Life of the party
And she swears that she’s artsy
But you could distinguish
Miles from Coltrane
I remember days when we were going to go out for dinner. You’d spend hours getting ready and you were never happy with the finished result, but I thought you looked beautiful, even if your hair wouldn’t stay in place, or your eyeliner was slightly wobbly, or your nail varnish was chipped. Whenever we do go out, she appears at the doorway completely happy with how she looks; not a hair out of place, her eye makeup is perfect and ... she just is. She plasters this smile on her face and she’s ready. It’s so alien to me. There’s no one to hug and tell them they look beautiful. She knows she is already.
Our love was comfortable and
So broken in
She’s perfect, so flawless
Or so they say, say
But things are changing recently. She’s still smiling, but there’s nothing behind the smile. She never tells me she loves me. We go out a lot more now; she says I have a reputation to uphold. It annoys me when people see me wandering down the street with this perfect woman on my arm, because that’s everything I don’t want to portray to my fans. It’s okay to not be perfect, but that’s not how she sees things. It seems like she’s posing for paparazzi photos that will never be taken because the paparazzi aren’t around. She’s so different from you – if we had to go out somewhere, you’d just go out in what you were wearing and you didn’t give a damn, where she seems to think every time we go out she needs to be perfect just in case.
She thinks I can’t see the smile that she’s faking
And poses for pictures that aren’t being taken
I loved you
Grey sweat pants, no make up, so perfect
I began to remember all this when I found the photograph of us outside the market that time when we got kicked out. My arms are around your waist and you’re grinning stupidly, holding the camera out in front of us. Your reddish hair is blowing everywhere in my face, and your own face is beautiful despite the fact you have no make up on and the stupid expression you’re pulling. I’m just smiling. I look content. I felt content. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. I remember the other day when I was out with my new girl. I had the camera, and I wanted to take a picture of us together. I put my arm around her, like we were in that photo, but she rearranged it, so it was a much more fake picture. She asked a passer-by to take the photo, and she smiled that stupid, fake smile she has, showing all her perfect teeth. Her hair didn’t billow anywhere, not like yours did. I hated that picture. It was everything I hadn’t wanted it to be...It was missing the one person I needed.
You.
Our love was comfortable and
So broken in
She’s perfect, so flawless
I’m not impressed, I want you back...