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Description
It smelled like old books and newspapers and all I could think about was getting the hell out of there, but alas, our instructor forced you and I into the same group.
I don't remember much, other than you not being over-joyed to talk to me. It was mutual, but whatever.
And fuck Rochelle, we were way too funny for her, and still are.
I can remember pushing you away, and I can remember our fights, where we wouldn't talk for days, and I would cry every night and hold onto my Yin side of the necklace you gave me in eigth grade. Thinking about it, even now, is hard.
And I can smell iron and freshly cut grass.
And I didn't tell you, but I keep having dreams where we go to the same university. (as if i could ever be in the ranks with you) I remember our projects together, it would always be you doing all the work, and hey, that was just us. I was the lazy one and you were the diligent one. I was into girls, you were into guys (usually). I was pretty quiet, you were pretty outlandish. I wear pants, you wear skirts.
I stay here, and you leave me behind.
Don't get me wrong, that isn't mean to sound bad (does it)?
I just lay awake at night listening to crappy music about how sad people can be, and I remember super stupid middle school, and super stupid projects, and super stupid me.
I barely remember many of our talks, many of our inside jokes. That was usually your job.
My job always seems to be to forget.
But I will always remember what you said to me, one day in english.
Why do you want the infinity symbol, i asked you.
'Why not?'

You're the dancer. And I can't imagine life without you, center stage.
When I watch you drive away, it's funny.
Feels like I'm center stage. Last one standing. Everything goes black, and the spotlight is on me, but it isn't even my time to shine.
And I look down.

It smells like fresh cut grass, and greasy fast food, and old books and newspapers and it looks like you're leaving me behind.
I almost want to say something.
And fuck Rochelle.
We were always too funny for her.
'What do you want to be when you grow up?' You ask me.
'I don't know.' i say, looking out the window.
and i lied when i said i didn't know. there are a lot of things i want to be when i grow up. i want to be diligent. i want to have goals, and to reach them. i want to be center stage, and know what's good for me, and i want to be able to dance.
i want to be just like you.

and i reach into my pocket, grabbing onto the necklace you gave me in eigth grade.
maybe you can't see it.
What do you want to be when you grow up?

Alive.

Description
It smelled like old books and newspapers and all I could think about was getting the hell out of there, but alas, our instructor forced you and I into the same group.
I don't remember much, other than you not being over-joyed to talk to me. It was mutual, but whatever.
And fuck Rochelle, we were way too funny for her, and still are.
I can remember pushing you away, and I can remember our fights, where we wouldn't talk for days, and I would cry every night and hold onto my Yin side of the necklace you gave me in eigth grade. Thinking about it, even now, is hard.
And I can smell iron and freshly cut grass.
And I didn't tell you, but I keep having dreams where we go to the same university. (as if i could ever be in the ranks with you) I remember our projects together, it would always be you doing all the work, and hey, that was just us. I was the lazy one and you were the diligent one. I was into girls, you were into guys (usually). I was pretty quiet, you were pretty outlandish. I wear pants, you wear skirts.
I stay here, and you leave me behind.
Don't get me wrong, that isn't mean to sound bad (does it)?
I just lay awake at night listening to crappy music about how sad people can be, and I remember super stupid middle school, and super stupid projects, and super stupid me.
I barely remember many of our talks, many of our inside jokes. That was usually your job.
My job always seems to be to forget.
But I will always remember what you said to me, one day in english.
Why do you want the infinity symbol, i asked you.
'Why not?'

You're the dancer. And I can't imagine life without you, center stage.
When I watch you drive away, it's funny.
Feels like I'm center stage. Last one standing. Everything goes black, and the spotlight is on me, but it isn't even my time to shine.
And I look down.

It smells like fresh cut grass, and greasy fast food, and old books and newspapers and it looks like you're leaving me behind.
I almost want to say something.
And fuck Rochelle.
We were always too funny for her.
'What do you want to be when you grow up?' You ask me.
'I don't know.' i say, looking out the window.
and i lied when i said i didn't know. there are a lot of things i want to be when i grow up. i want to be diligent. i want to have goals, and to reach them. i want to be center stage, and know what's good for me, and i want to be able to dance.
i want to be just like you.

and i reach into my pocket, grabbing onto the necklace you gave me in eigth grade.
maybe you can't see it.
What do you want to be when you grow up?

Alive.