Repeats.

History repeats herself.
Am I doomed to the life
my mother chose to write?

History repeats herself.
Was her choice, too, a lie?
Did she live her mother's life?

Repetition makes an impression.
Are their mistakes
now mine to make?

Give your heart to the one
who will hurt it the most:
Love them, and then love their ghost.

Give your heart to the one
who will leave you first,
who will never quench your thirst.

History repeats herself.
Mama, Oma, Omama:
Is it your lives I walk?

Miracles

I didn't ask to be hard to love,
nor did I ask to fall in love
with a heart so untouchable
as yours.

There are two playing this game,
and neither of us are making this easy.
If we make it out of this together,
it will be a miracle.

But I still have faith in miracles.

I still have faith in us.

Choices

I dream about running away;
what would happen if I disappeared?
Would you come looking for me?
Or would you let it be?
Would you consider yourself free?

I dream about forging my way;
what would happen if I followed my heart?
Would you still want to be a part?
Or would you disappear in the dark?
Would you take it for a fresh start?

I dream about giving you a choice:
Belong to us, or belong to nobody.
Would you choose to follow our story?
Or would you choose to be one only?
I don't know what you'd choose, honestly.

I dream about running away;
What would happen if I disappeared?
Would you come find me?
Or would you consider yourself free?

Half-Life

What is this I am doing?
Can you call it living?
I work I sleep
I cry in frustration
at the bus stop,
between the two.
I lie alone in the dark
waiting for you to
allow my heart your presence.
This half-life of waiting
and working
mindlessly
is working
against me.
I am withering.
Is this living?
Only something alive can die,
so I must not be dead yet.