My Radar, After All These Years Of

Time Heals All Wounds. And If It Doesn't, You Name Them Something Other Than Wounds And Agree To Let Them Stay.

Your Own Love Story? Your Paramour May Have Had Lovers Before You. But No One Has Ever Loved Him The Way You Do. No One Has Ever Heard Music. Not The Way You Hear It. The Songs Are Beautiful Vampires, Asleep In Your Ipod, Coming Alive At Night, Aglow. You Can Have Them On Your Hours, Yours To Conduct. Music Shapes Us And We Shape It.

He Was A Super Shiny Boy And I Liked The Shape Of Him. Under The Blanket. In The Shower. I Liked His Shadow On The Street And His Imprint On The Sofa. I Hated The Smell Of Hair Gel On His Head, But I Loved It On The Pillow. I Love The Smell Of Losing Someone.

If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

It's As If He Can No Longer Acknowledge The Love He Felt Or The Pain I Am In. I Have Been Dismissed. I Don't Think I Was Smarter Or As Beautiful As The Other Girls He Did This To. It's Just That I Was Me. It Was All I Had.