What is love? What is like?
What is the difference between infatuation and enthralment and crying yourself to sleep at night?…

I’m not good at this.
I’m not good at a lot of things, but I’m especially not good at this.
I could give you a list of all the things I’m not good at,
I think number two would be taxes, but number one would be this,
Because at least with taxes I can google and ask advisors,
But no amount of astrology, advice columns, or prophesiers can help me decipher anything about this.

Five months in and I am none the wiser,
Find me a eulogizer who will say:
“Here lies the remains of a girl whose heart was constrained, overthrown by her brain.”

For the last 23 years I’ve somehow managed to wear my heart on my sleeve yet keep it covered in iron;
You can see its size, and its shape, but you can’t feel it, and you certainly can’t get in.
It’s not even that I wouldn’t let you, it’s that I couldn’t,
I don’t know how.
Fourteen years ago I hid that key and it’s never been found.
And the iron is thick, my heart can’t make a sound.
So I sit here in silence…

And it hurts.

And I tell myself that it doesn’t matter,
Because, even if I let my heart speak,
You wouldn’t care.

So I don’t dare look for that key.
Maybe it’s best that it’s lost…

I told you I’m not good at this.