it breaks me,
every time your eyes are filled with joy
and i remember how i'm not the reason behind it.
it breaks me,
every time you speak of her
and i remember how you never talked about me that way
(and i also wonder, if you ever will.)
and now it breaks me,
that the joy that once filled your eyes
has been replaced by melancholy
and it breaks me,
that i can't think of any way to make you feel betterâbecause i'm not your happiness.
isn't it funny,
how similar our situations are?
(and how i'm in this situation because of you.)
and how i try to comfort you
and wish you'd be alright the next morning,
but i couldn't even help myself.
i hate that i am so helpless;
and so are you,
because wouldn't it be such an irony
to try to fix someone broken
when all you have left
are broken pieces of yourself?