Sunday, May 02, 2004 ::: What ever happened to
Those little things we used to do
What happened to...
... how you'd turn speechless when i told you how much i loved you
... how you turned red that time when i first kissed you
... those dirty little stories we used to write to each other
... those dirty little talks, when we'd get off to each other
... smiling and blushing and warming up over me
... how you e-mailed me every day to tell me how much you missed me
... four hour conversations never wanting to get off
... wanting to be with me, otherwise you would feel lost
... crying over the fear, that you would ever lose me
... praying to God every night, happy that you met me
... saying things happen for a reason, and we were meant to be together
... those comforting, yet naïve, hopes, for us to be forever
... when Bogues said, "aww, you love her," and i said "yea I do"
... when i said "there's my girl" and you'd blush, you looked so cute
... those letters that you wrote me, professing to me your love
... how you put back my faith in God, cuz you were an Angel from above
... that CD i made for you, do you remember when you got it?
... that folder you made for me, i remember when i got it
... that look on your face when i'd do something sweet for you
... my face on my birthday, not believing it was true
What ever happened to those little things that we used to do?
And I wonder, I wonder now, what those things now mean to you
Perhaps they're just a memory, and a memory is just that
Now our love - nay our friendship, remains idol and flat
Oh what am I now? I wonder, what did it mean?
When you told me that you loved me, was that just a dream
Sometimes I hear those words echoing over the phone
And at times it helps me to feel not so alone
Yet when I sleep at night and I long for your touch
I dare not dream of you, for I loved you too much
You don't need to read Fromm, to know true love and its cost
The cure for man's suffering, and without it one is lost
And it pains to think, how much I used to - and still - love you
So I rack my mind over, trying to think of what to do
Should I attempt at my life, like Sylvia Plath
And wash away remorse through an adrenaline bath?
Oh help me forget, no I don't want to remember
I fear I won't talk to you after September
There might come a time when we won't meet again
For some friends lose contact, and now we're nothing but just friends
Yet you still tell me I'm special, but I wonder what that means
For all I can remember, our happiness, now, feels like just a dream ...
