it's not a good thing.
it's a scary thing.
the old tendencies...the old daydreams.
if only i could tell you about it.
if only i could share the weight.
tell you what really burns through my veins,
i would tell you everything if i could.
but i can't.
and i never will.
i'll never be able to say it.
it's all locked away, so tightly chained and buried deep, you'll never know.
no one will ever know.
and that's the burden.
that's why i say to you, "c'est la vie."
and though you never push,
or ask to know,
i couldn't share anyway.