Now Listening: The Only Exception by Paramore*
When I was younger
I saw my daddy cry
And curse at the wind
I only saw him cry twice. But as I get older I see him curse at the wind more and more. You were with me at the hospital the last time I saw it; I returned the favor of sharing that intensely personal moment by snapping at you. I saw your face crumble and your body language shut down and shut me out in the waiting area of the emergency room where you'd sat with me for hours and I SWEAR I wanted at that moment to stop everything and fix it but I didn't know how to and I couldn't focus. So I just turned my attention to my wounded father and drowned myself in the paperwork he was too broken to handle. I know I apologized later as we drove down the not even close to lit Highway 92 and I know you forgave me, but I know that doesn't make it any better.
He broke his own heart
And I watched
As he tried to reassemble it
Nothing kills me more than watching my own parents grow up. And older. I saw how grandchildren changed them and I will see that again on my moms' (not a grammar issue--I have two moms) side soon. (NEPHEW IS COMING.) But they (my three parents, total) are older, and I am older now too, and while I don't always agree with their sacrifices, I acknowledge that they made them with the best intentions in mind. It's like a fucked-up Rubik's cube where the algorithm always morphs into chaos. (I know, that math probably isn't right, but just bear with me.) I just want credit for the sacrifices I made too. I suffered too. I went without too. And in their own ways, my mom and dad have tried to make up for it. Because that's how time works, and just a few weeks ago my mother squeezed my hand in the theater as we watched the live-action Aladdin movie during the song I'm sure I sang incessantly as a 1st grader, but the Disney magic was gone. And my dad tried to get me a treat after the last doctor's appointment he went to when it was my turn to drive him back and forth. He tried. They tried. But I'm not seven anymore, and those Disney sing-alongs and Twix bars are just forgotten nostalgia for me, but probably muscle memory for them. And yeah, it was sad in both cases watching everyone's coping mechanisms and behavior patterns fall into the rushing river of time to be swept away and drowned forever, but this is how time works and it's weird to remind my parents of that sometimes. I don't really want yesterday back--just tell me now that yesterday mattered.
And my momma swore
That she would never let herself forget
But she did. She forgot a lot of things that I have to remember and I don't think it is fair. But it's not fair what happened to her, either. Empathy is hard. And hating your parents as a teenager is so easy because you understand the results of their choices, you live them, but you don't quite get why they made those choices. Why they were gone, or angry, or tired, or frustrated. And by the time I was a grown-up with my own kids, I was too tired and she was too busy being the grandma and we just let it go in favor of two perfect little boys having a united front to always fall back on. But what happens when those two beautiful innocent lynchpins of your adult relationship with your mom are gone, suddenly? Well, you revert, I guess. Here we are, both women, both hurting, both without the vocabulary to explain to each other why those hard choices had to be made. You just lie in the bed of consequences you made and dare the other to set it on fire. Because there's nothing left to lose. You get through it, but you don't really deal with it. You hold each other on Mother's Day on the floor of the dart room (it used to be your brother's room... time is a real bitch for the oldest AND youngest, I guess) while everyone else is in the kitchen. It's just one mother with her oldest daughter, and one mother without anything to show for it--not just twice for the two little boys who are gone but also for the little one who never was because, as I mentioned, life isn't fair. And sometimes it's not viable, either. Viable... sustainable... whatever... I guess it doesn't really matter for either of us now.
Sometimes there's nothing you can do, no matter what sacrifice you are willing to make.
For those of you who are not into subtlety, I had a miscarriage a few years ago, and I pretty much die a little bit more inside about it every day. Some days because I am mourning it and some days because I am grateful it happened before I could even get excited about anything. Before I could tell anyone. Before I could even believe it myself. Before Things Got Bad. Which is worse?
Out of three kids, two are safe--the ones who were never mine. The one who could have been? Well, I guess I am the reason we can't have nice things.
And that was the day that I promised
I'd never sing of love
If it does not exist, but darlin'
My favorite part of my last trip to see you was how you called me "darling" in front of your class and all the kids groaned like we were their parents kissing in front of the stove and dancing in the kitchen before dinner. I don't have a memory like that from my own childhood, and I don't know if you do either, but it seems like a cute Norman Rockwell thing to aspire to, right?
My idea of love and what it looks like has changed so much in the last year. Not just with you but with everyone. I think the Greeks (or someone) had like eight words for different kinds of love. Like familial love, and the love of sour patch kids, and the way you love the feel of water dripping over your closed eyelids in the shower after a three-day bender trying to escape your problems. Or something like that. Anyway, I know it's always easy for me to say " I love you" and I know it's hard for you to hear (or hard to believe, or trust or something) but it's not a throwaway thing at the end of a phone call for me. I have always meant it every time, as much as I could at the time. As much as I knew how. I love freely and recklessly, and yeah, that's lead to me pouring time and energy into people who weren't worth it or didn't (or couldn't) stick around. But I mean it. I mean it every time. Give me some time and I promise I'll show you.
You are, the only exception
I know I am not easy to love, or even like sometimes, or even deal with most of the time. I don't do it to be coy or cute or playful. I am legitimately trying.
You are, the only exception
You're the only person who's seen all the deep dark scars I keep hidden. Do I wear face makeup? No--I don't know how to apply foundation and I think it's stupid anyway. But I've gone through great lengths to keep my emotional bruises hidden. Except for with you.
You are, the only exception
I can cry about how I am in this weird state of growing up but also losing children but also gaining some more baby birds and also raising adults and also trying to find myself and you never. bat. an. eyelash. (You have beautiful eyelashes, by the way.)
You are, the only exception
For the record, I don't even like this song. I didn't like it when it came out in 2009 and I definitely don't like it now because I've been listening to it on repeat for almost six hours while I try to eek these last meaningful words out of my tired, rusted fingers.
You are the only exception
Maybe I know, somewhere
Deep in my soul
That love never lasts
Maybe it doesn't. I don't know--what the fuck do I know? But I like to think it does. I want to think that every person I ever loved, romantic or otherwise, has a little piece of me that they keep tucked away for rainy days. Like the stuffed animal we all took to college but kept hidden. But even that gets tattered, and if you left it in a box in your mother's garage for 12 years and then rediscovered it later when even the memories had faded, does it even matter anymore? But there are things that can outlast our fickle notions of love... things like trust and honesty and loyalty and compassion. Man... it's almost like I'm learning something...or something.
And we've got to find other ways
To make it alone
But keep a straight face
It's reeeeeeeeeallllly hard being away from you most of the time, but especially on nights like tonight. My poker face sucks, also.
And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable distance
And up until now
I had sworn to myself that I'm content
With loneliness
But it would be hard even if you were here with me in the room where The Walls Are Too Blue. I recognize that. You can't fix real estate Bob or how I'm sad about Roland or worried for Mark or anxious about a thousand things that aren't really the problem. But you'd try, I know that. You'd let me do that thing I like where I rest my forehead right into your collarbone and tangle my legs into yours until I can't feel the arm I'm lying on and I have to move but you know It's Not Over and you curl over with me so that we fall into new human peaks and valleys of knees and elbows as many times as it takes or as many episodes of West Wing as we are awake for until I fall into a fitful sleep and you have to ease me out of nightmares as the sun comes up.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk
I'll have every nightmare twice over if it means waking up next to you.
I'm in this weird place where I don't trust myself. I think I know what I'm doing, but I've made an awful lot of Fucked Up Choices lately. I used to be so "shoot now, ask questions later" but I see where that got me. I am trying to be more rational. More discerning with my attention. More judicious about how I dole out my time. More careful with who (whom!) I let in.
But, you are, the only exception
I swear I sat by the trampoline and thought about it. I didn't know that it would be this hard. I didn't know I was so broken. I'm so sorry.
You are, the only exception
I really appreciate how you don't like when I say "I'm broken." Because I'm not, I guess. Just wounded. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. We'll get it figured.
You are, the only exception
You told me once that you should be the exception. And it shook me. You know, "shook" as the youth would say. But you ARE. I PROMISE. And I know I do a shit job of SHOWING you most (all) of the time but you are. That's why (maybe) DEFINITELY why you get all of the ugly parts of me. "He just didn't understand your darkness," you said to me once. You didn't even know how much you meant it. I didn't know (at the time) how much it meant. But here it is. You wanted it all. Here you go. I know it sucks. I'll get better. I'll be better. I'll be me again.
You are, the only exception
OKAY okay okayyyyyyyy being able to articulate it doesn't mean I can live it. Can you be patient with me a little longer while I work on me? Like you always have been? Like since a decade ago when I was scared?
I've got a tight grip on reality
But I can't let go of what's in front of me here
Reality SUCKS. (Hey, remember that time you made me watch Reality Bites because I'm so pop-culture illiterate? I do..) The last five years of my life WERE NEVER WORTH THE RISK (SEE ABOVE) and I know yours weren't either. It HURTS. People SUCK. Bitches be TRIPPIN'.
BUT WE HAVE SUCH A BADASS THING! Let's not waste it because I'm broken. I mean...
I'm so glad we were both still risk-takers when we re-met. One more chancers. One last time.
I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream
Nightmares are my least favorite thing about The Thing that I am going through. I HATE that my favorite part of waking up next to you is often ruined by the hazy remnants of a door slamming, or incessant teasing, or something as innocent as a child's first day of school or as damaging as the feeling of a pinewood dresser digging into your shoulder as you're thrown against it.
I know the logistics of Us are hard and I'm trying to cope with the coming and going as best as I can. I know I suck at it. I know it's harder at my house. I know I try to inject life into this place via family dinners and Instant Pot Days and Hey Let's Watch a Random Netflix Documentary Nights with friends but when all those people leave it's just me and THIS FUCKING HOUSE and I know you pay for that when you answer my early morning phone calls. And I am sorry for it. And I am sad about it. Death and decay are etched into every square inch of the drywall around here, and it's hard not to give in to that atrophy and entropy sometimes. I can tell you; don't ask me to show you.
You are, the only exception
I would show you. I already have. I'm sorry those dents in the wall and on the counters are so attached to my skin.
You are, the only exception
I'm sorry for that time I was embarrassed and you expertly led me to the pool without question. We can talk about it if you want. I can talk about it. Even here. BECAUSE FUCK THESE PEOPLE. And also, more importantly, you make me feel fearless and I know that my awkward feelings about writing pale in comparison to the people who don't have a voice. I can help people. I have before. Just IMAGINE what I can do with you by my side. LOOK AT WHAT I'VE ALREADY DONE. Oh, babe, you have no idea. I called crying about the miscarriage section alone TWICE because...
You are, the only exception
I literally just answered a work email that I had no business answering at 3 AM not due to lack of knowledge but because I AM MID EXISTENTIAL CRISIS AND CAN'T THEY JUST FIGURE IT OUT??
You are, the only exception
I'm sure they could figure it out, but goddamit I love being involved and it's MY lab I have to at least keep up with the smart people, right? Thank you so much for rearranging your house every time I come over so that I have a yoga studio and an office and A Crying Room. You are pretty fucking spectacular. Do you know that?
You are, the only exception
Of course you know. You've been the solid rock behind all of my work endeavors from November til now. Every demo, every secret meeting, every international flight, every case of food poisoning and homesickness. Every window ledge, every Call of the Void, the understanding behind every perfected selfie, the umbrella over my head on 7th in Ybor.
You are, the only exception
Jesus CHRIST I hate this song.
You are, the only exception
You told me once I was a great verbal breakdancer as a writer and sometimes I wonder if that's still true. If now that you see how much it takes out of me and how I "verbal process" in person if you still admire the end result so much. Do you see now? Did you see before? Do you still love me? To be honest, this isn't my best work. But it might be my most honest.
You are, the only exception
You really are the only exception. I've had people lie cheat and steal their way in. And I've let people waltz on in with no invitation to speak of, if we're being realsies here. I am tired. I am broken. I am busy. I am depressed. I am anxious. I am in the process of unlearning things Someone Awful taught me. I am mourning. I am so young. I am too old for this. I should know better. I should have known better. I am getting stronger every day. I am strong. I am a good big sister. I am pretty. I am smart. I am hilarious. I am good at my job. I am a fantastic hostess. I am a thoughtful gift giver. I was worthy of the Chromcast you gave me and set up for me, and those flowers, and the USF necklaces that hang in my office, and the time you spent driving me to Houston and San Antonio and Old Town Spring and wherever else, and I am worthy of the space in your closet where my favorite Converse live and the dresser drawers where my clothes are AND I SWEAR IF YOU TOOK THAT BOBBY PIN OUT OF YOUR CAR I WILL END YOU BECAUSE THEN HOW WILL THOSE OTHER HOOKERS KNOW THAT YOU ARE SPOKEN FOR and I am also very confident that I deserve a space in your heart.
And I'm on my way to believing
Oh, and I'm on my way to believing
*I really hate this song.
When I was younger
I saw my daddy cry
And curse at the wind
I only saw him cry twice. But as I get older I see him curse at the wind more and more. You were with me at the hospital the last time I saw it; I returned the favor of sharing that intensely personal moment by snapping at you. I saw your face crumble and your body language shut down and shut me out in the waiting area of the emergency room where you'd sat with me for hours and I SWEAR I wanted at that moment to stop everything and fix it but I didn't know how to and I couldn't focus. So I just turned my attention to my wounded father and drowned myself in the paperwork he was too broken to handle. I know I apologized later as we drove down the not even close to lit Highway 92 and I know you forgave me, but I know that doesn't make it any better.
He broke his own heart
And I watched
As he tried to reassemble it
Nothing kills me more than watching my own parents grow up. And older. I saw how grandchildren changed them and I will see that again on my moms' (not a grammar issue--I have two moms) side soon. (NEPHEW IS COMING.) But they (my three parents, total) are older, and I am older now too, and while I don't always agree with their sacrifices, I acknowledge that they made them with the best intentions in mind. It's like a fucked-up Rubik's cube where the algorithm always morphs into chaos. (I know, that math probably isn't right, but just bear with me.) I just want credit for the sacrifices I made too. I suffered too. I went without too. And in their own ways, my mom and dad have tried to make up for it. Because that's how time works, and just a few weeks ago my mother squeezed my hand in the theater as we watched the live-action Aladdin movie during the song I'm sure I sang incessantly as a 1st grader, but the Disney magic was gone. And my dad tried to get me a treat after the last doctor's appointment he went to when it was my turn to drive him back and forth. He tried. They tried. But I'm not seven anymore, and those Disney sing-alongs and Twix bars are just forgotten nostalgia for me, but probably muscle memory for them. And yeah, it was sad in both cases watching everyone's coping mechanisms and behavior patterns fall into the rushing river of time to be swept away and drowned forever, but this is how time works and it's weird to remind my parents of that sometimes. I don't really want yesterday back--just tell me now that yesterday mattered.
And my momma swore
That she would never let herself forget
But she did. She forgot a lot of things that I have to remember and I don't think it is fair. But it's not fair what happened to her, either. Empathy is hard. And hating your parents as a teenager is so easy because you understand the results of their choices, you live them, but you don't quite get why they made those choices. Why they were gone, or angry, or tired, or frustrated. And by the time I was a grown-up with my own kids, I was too tired and she was too busy being the grandma and we just let it go in favor of two perfect little boys having a united front to always fall back on. But what happens when those two beautiful innocent lynchpins of your adult relationship with your mom are gone, suddenly? Well, you revert, I guess. Here we are, both women, both hurting, both without the vocabulary to explain to each other why those hard choices had to be made. You just lie in the bed of consequences you made and dare the other to set it on fire. Because there's nothing left to lose. You get through it, but you don't really deal with it. You hold each other on Mother's Day on the floor of the dart room (it used to be your brother's room... time is a real bitch for the oldest AND youngest, I guess) while everyone else is in the kitchen. It's just one mother with her oldest daughter, and one mother without anything to show for it--not just twice for the two little boys who are gone but also for the little one who never was because, as I mentioned, life isn't fair. And sometimes it's not viable, either. Viable... sustainable... whatever... I guess it doesn't really matter for either of us now.
Sometimes there's nothing you can do, no matter what sacrifice you are willing to make.
For those of you who are not into subtlety, I had a miscarriage a few years ago, and I pretty much die a little bit more inside about it every day. Some days because I am mourning it and some days because I am grateful it happened before I could even get excited about anything. Before I could tell anyone. Before I could even believe it myself. Before Things Got Bad. Which is worse?
Out of three kids, two are safe--the ones who were never mine. The one who could have been? Well, I guess I am the reason we can't have nice things.
And that was the day that I promised
I'd never sing of love
If it does not exist, but darlin'
My favorite part of my last trip to see you was how you called me "darling" in front of your class and all the kids groaned like we were their parents kissing in front of the stove and dancing in the kitchen before dinner. I don't have a memory like that from my own childhood, and I don't know if you do either, but it seems like a cute Norman Rockwell thing to aspire to, right?
My idea of love and what it looks like has changed so much in the last year. Not just with you but with everyone. I think the Greeks (or someone) had like eight words for different kinds of love. Like familial love, and the love of sour patch kids, and the way you love the feel of water dripping over your closed eyelids in the shower after a three-day bender trying to escape your problems. Or something like that. Anyway, I know it's always easy for me to say " I love you" and I know it's hard for you to hear (or hard to believe, or trust or something) but it's not a throwaway thing at the end of a phone call for me. I have always meant it every time, as much as I could at the time. As much as I knew how. I love freely and recklessly, and yeah, that's lead to me pouring time and energy into people who weren't worth it or didn't (or couldn't) stick around. But I mean it. I mean it every time. Give me some time and I promise I'll show you.
You are, the only exception
I know I am not easy to love, or even like sometimes, or even deal with most of the time. I don't do it to be coy or cute or playful. I am legitimately trying.
You are, the only exception
You're the only person who's seen all the deep dark scars I keep hidden. Do I wear face makeup? No--I don't know how to apply foundation and I think it's stupid anyway. But I've gone through great lengths to keep my emotional bruises hidden. Except for with you.
You are, the only exception
I can cry about how I am in this weird state of growing up but also losing children but also gaining some more baby birds and also raising adults and also trying to find myself and you never. bat. an. eyelash. (You have beautiful eyelashes, by the way.)
You are, the only exception
For the record, I don't even like this song. I didn't like it when it came out in 2009 and I definitely don't like it now because I've been listening to it on repeat for almost six hours while I try to eek these last meaningful words out of my tired, rusted fingers.
You are the only exception
Maybe I know, somewhere
Deep in my soul
That love never lasts
Maybe it doesn't. I don't know--what the fuck do I know? But I like to think it does. I want to think that every person I ever loved, romantic or otherwise, has a little piece of me that they keep tucked away for rainy days. Like the stuffed animal we all took to college but kept hidden. But even that gets tattered, and if you left it in a box in your mother's garage for 12 years and then rediscovered it later when even the memories had faded, does it even matter anymore? But there are things that can outlast our fickle notions of love... things like trust and honesty and loyalty and compassion. Man... it's almost like I'm learning something...or something.
And we've got to find other ways
To make it alone
But keep a straight face
It's reeeeeeeeeallllly hard being away from you most of the time, but especially on nights like tonight. My poker face sucks, also.
And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable distance
And up until now
I had sworn to myself that I'm content
With loneliness
But it would be hard even if you were here with me in the room where The Walls Are Too Blue. I recognize that. You can't fix real estate Bob or how I'm sad about Roland or worried for Mark or anxious about a thousand things that aren't really the problem. But you'd try, I know that. You'd let me do that thing I like where I rest my forehead right into your collarbone and tangle my legs into yours until I can't feel the arm I'm lying on and I have to move but you know It's Not Over and you curl over with me so that we fall into new human peaks and valleys of knees and elbows as many times as it takes or as many episodes of West Wing as we are awake for until I fall into a fitful sleep and you have to ease me out of nightmares as the sun comes up.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk
I'll have every nightmare twice over if it means waking up next to you.
I'm in this weird place where I don't trust myself. I think I know what I'm doing, but I've made an awful lot of Fucked Up Choices lately. I used to be so "shoot now, ask questions later" but I see where that got me. I am trying to be more rational. More discerning with my attention. More judicious about how I dole out my time. More careful with who (whom!) I let in.
But, you are, the only exception
I swear I sat by the trampoline and thought about it. I didn't know that it would be this hard. I didn't know I was so broken. I'm so sorry.
You are, the only exception
I really appreciate how you don't like when I say "I'm broken." Because I'm not, I guess. Just wounded. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. We'll get it figured.
You are, the only exception
You told me once that you should be the exception. And it shook me. You know, "shook" as the youth would say. But you ARE. I PROMISE. And I know I do a shit job of SHOWING you most (all) of the time but you are. That's why (maybe) DEFINITELY why you get all of the ugly parts of me. "He just didn't understand your darkness," you said to me once. You didn't even know how much you meant it. I didn't know (at the time) how much it meant. But here it is. You wanted it all. Here you go. I know it sucks. I'll get better. I'll be better. I'll be me again.
You are, the only exception
OKAY okay okayyyyyyyy being able to articulate it doesn't mean I can live it. Can you be patient with me a little longer while I work on me? Like you always have been? Like since a decade ago when I was scared?
I've got a tight grip on reality
But I can't let go of what's in front of me here
Reality SUCKS. (Hey, remember that time you made me watch Reality Bites because I'm so pop-culture illiterate? I do..) The last five years of my life WERE NEVER WORTH THE RISK (SEE ABOVE) and I know yours weren't either. It HURTS. People SUCK. Bitches be TRIPPIN'.
BUT WE HAVE SUCH A BADASS THING! Let's not waste it because I'm broken. I mean...
I'm so glad we were both still risk-takers when we re-met. One more chancers. One last time.
I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream
Nightmares are my least favorite thing about The Thing that I am going through. I HATE that my favorite part of waking up next to you is often ruined by the hazy remnants of a door slamming, or incessant teasing, or something as innocent as a child's first day of school or as damaging as the feeling of a pinewood dresser digging into your shoulder as you're thrown against it.
I know the logistics of Us are hard and I'm trying to cope with the coming and going as best as I can. I know I suck at it. I know it's harder at my house. I know I try to inject life into this place via family dinners and Instant Pot Days and Hey Let's Watch a Random Netflix Documentary Nights with friends but when all those people leave it's just me and THIS FUCKING HOUSE and I know you pay for that when you answer my early morning phone calls. And I am sorry for it. And I am sad about it. Death and decay are etched into every square inch of the drywall around here, and it's hard not to give in to that atrophy and entropy sometimes. I can tell you; don't ask me to show you.
You are, the only exception
I would show you. I already have. I'm sorry those dents in the wall and on the counters are so attached to my skin.
You are, the only exception
I'm sorry for that time I was embarrassed and you expertly led me to the pool without question. We can talk about it if you want. I can talk about it. Even here. BECAUSE FUCK THESE PEOPLE. And also, more importantly, you make me feel fearless and I know that my awkward feelings about writing pale in comparison to the people who don't have a voice. I can help people. I have before. Just IMAGINE what I can do with you by my side. LOOK AT WHAT I'VE ALREADY DONE. Oh, babe, you have no idea. I called crying about the miscarriage section alone TWICE because...
You are, the only exception
I literally just answered a work email that I had no business answering at 3 AM not due to lack of knowledge but because I AM MID EXISTENTIAL CRISIS AND CAN'T THEY JUST FIGURE IT OUT??
You are, the only exception
I'm sure they could figure it out, but goddamit I love being involved and it's MY lab I have to at least keep up with the smart people, right? Thank you so much for rearranging your house every time I come over so that I have a yoga studio and an office and A Crying Room. You are pretty fucking spectacular. Do you know that?
You are, the only exception
You are, the only exception
Jesus CHRIST I hate this song.
You are, the only exception
You told me once I was a great verbal breakdancer as a writer and sometimes I wonder if that's still true. If now that you see how much it takes out of me and how I "verbal process" in person if you still admire the end result so much. Do you see now? Did you see before? Do you still love me? To be honest, this isn't my best work. But it might be my most honest.
You are, the only exception
You really are the only exception. I've had people lie cheat and steal their way in. And I've let people waltz on in with no invitation to speak of, if we're being realsies here. I am tired. I am broken. I am busy. I am depressed. I am anxious. I am in the process of unlearning things Someone Awful taught me. I am mourning. I am so young. I am too old for this. I should know better. I should have known better. I am getting stronger every day. I am strong. I am a good big sister. I am pretty. I am smart. I am hilarious. I am good at my job. I am a fantastic hostess. I am a thoughtful gift giver. I was worthy of the Chromcast you gave me and set up for me, and those flowers, and the USF necklaces that hang in my office, and the time you spent driving me to Houston and San Antonio and Old Town Spring and wherever else, and I am worthy of the space in your closet where my favorite Converse live and the dresser drawers where my clothes are AND I SWEAR IF YOU TOOK THAT BOBBY PIN OUT OF YOUR CAR I WILL END YOU BECAUSE THEN HOW WILL THOSE OTHER HOOKERS KNOW THAT YOU ARE SPOKEN FOR and I am also very confident that I deserve a space in your heart.
And I'm on my way to believing
Oh, and I'm on my way to believing
*I really hate this song.
