Tired. Not of you, but of the struggle, of the moments of silence, dispair, solitude. Of uncertainty. Of the constant risk of losing it all, even of I never even had it.
Scared and alone in my madness, facing decisions I never thought I'd consider, with no backup, no hopes and no promises.
The closer I get, the further you run. And the higher I climb the harder I fall. I am full of bruises and my feet are tired for running. Yet, it takes a glimpse at the sparkle in those eyes to make my engine run again.
And I gave it all, played all my cards, used all my amunnition, my guns are laying dead on the floor and my misteries are open books on your table - sometimes you look at them intrigued, but some other times you close them and you put them away, for later, way later...
And I act grown up till I'm alone and the monsters show their ugly faces from behind the courtins. And I shake till the morning, waiting, hoping, praying.
If only you read me all the times...
