The Day Manchester United Won The Champions League

And so it is just like you said it would be;

That we would fall apart and break into pieces in the process of our own self destruction. Or probably as is always the case, my driven purpose to push the self destruct button at every possible chance. To jump before the catch, to take the dive when its way beyond empty and break the fall withyour heart before mine. The way only I can. Or so it seems. May I for once step forward and say that I have grown up? Would you even believe me or would you believe the hype of the shameless playboy rich kid with his air of nonchalance and fuck all body language.
I am not as you always say I am. Not even close are those that know me skin deep. Please believe in me again

Life goes easy on me most of the time;

I had it all and I threw it all away, you fuck. That despite my personal battle with the demons that plague my adolescence and fore coming adulthood, I never really had it bad. Even when I lived on thirteen hundred dollars and spent nine hundred on rents and fuel life was never Jewish-holocaust-refugee harsh.
I am not from the streets of-lose-everything-you-have-in-life guy I make myself out to be. I am humbled before you

No hero in her sky

Not the superman she envisioned me to be. More of relationship anti-hero that stands his ground without moving from ‘I am right and this is why, blah blah blah bullshit’ despite really being afraid of losing her. As much as you may think I fail you on purpose every single other day, I never mean to but its probably possible I’m the only who believes in this moment we have together is inseparable or at least should be. Like the boy who cried wolf will I earn her trust again? Please don’t say its too late. How can I even think of being superhuman when the saving myself-part roams in its own time, shuffling through lost causes and through the meandering of faith?
Show me where I am weak Guide me

I can’t take my eyes off you

Pull me out from inside and I’ll show you where the flowers grow. I am ready but I’m colourblind. The tie suffocates my neck and I’m gasping for air in blind struggles like when my heart skips a beat and I stutter like that of a seven year old on Christmas in your presence despite my supposed calmness and lucid demeanor.

I love you. I miss you. Please come home