I don’t know, maybe it’s the way you said you’d run away with me if I wanted to, that you would hold my hand and I would lift my skirts and we’d escape this constant, vicious cycle. A blaze of hemorrhaging problems blooming like flowers in our trail, the vines did eventually engulf our little bubble of ignorance. So here I am, placing an eyelash on your pinkie, oh and if we could wish the world away. I don’t know quite a lot of things, I don’t know whether I should've ran, whether I should've dared to wish of you, should’ve should’ve should’ve done so much more or pulled back after fixing your hair. Is it bad, that sometimes I wish the thorns popped our little bubble earlier? Is it better you leave than asking if you would stay?