i met a charming girl recently.
yeah, she's an interesting one
and nothing like the countless mindless others that i've been patronizing for fun.
no no, its really love that im after, not meaningless banter leading to a disaster, but an actual answer to why my heart beats faster and i hold nervous laughter every time im around her.
god, she could turn the worst wallflower into a dancer.

is this what love is? i kept asking myself, when i got that cold stinging feeling in my chest and fingertips. well, i hope not or i'll have a goddamned heart attack if i ever do go for a kiss.
but im in no rush, im a pleasure delayer.
i asked if she'd like to have lunch with me later
and spent the next two days deciding where i would take her
and lost so much sleep i stayed awake for what seemed
like a whole half delirious/half euphoric week.

so i held doors open and avoided smokin'. ya know, things a gentleman would do.
i like to think of myself as one even though im a bitter selfish asshole too.
yeah, that date didn't go as i planned so i did what any sane person would do,
and coated my lungs with tar to subdue my mind's racing and my pathetic heart's pacing at the thought of even being close to you. and i've caught myself rehashing our conversations for hours, wishing i could've been more witty.
hell, maybe i should just tell you how i feel, or would that only inspire pity?
damn it! i should've made a move when we were lying on your bed
and you got the sudden impulse to lift up your head,
but i, i didn't know how lightly i should tread
and kept hoping i'd have the courage to ask you instead...
to ask you when i knew our conversation was dead...

why can't we talk about food?
i want to talk about sex
why can't we talk about food and sex and sleeping?
i want to talk about you and sex and sleeping

well, what do i do now? i guess i could write some more songs, and avoid seeing friends until the semester ends. with any luck, my seclusion will create a false sense of exclusivity...
didn't i hear someone say girls like a guy with a sense of mystery?
but who the fuck am i kidding?

i'll probably come crawling home because i cant really handle the stress
and the panic attacks, they'll just start getting worst because of my need to impress
and i cant decide if my fits of passion are the manic raindrops in my sea of depressed
thoughts about how life is a mess. if only i could somehow shutoff my senses when they overwhelm me, if only i could rest.

forget what i just said, i wasn't feeling well, i just wanted to spill my guts or should i say my brain onto someone who wouldn't yell
at me for being mentally weak.
maybe i should take some more time to think,
but only to myself. you know, develop a better relationship with my internal dialogue so it doesn't try to stab me in the back of the ego next time i leave my guard down, that vindictive bastard.
but anyway,

why can't we talk about food?
i want to talk about sex
why can't we talk about food and sex and sleeping?
i want to talk about you and sex and sleeping