Pretty little girl talking to you so innocent, so cheerful dressed in frills and smiles her blushed cheeks, her red lips What makes her real when you touch her hand she shyly looks in your eyes the look of an angel.
The things you see they’re not always real Not speaking, listening but you can’t really hear the thoughts. Sit straight, don’t breathe dress in white, always smile Walk like a lady do your nails, do your hair.
That’s all you see that’s all you want to know You never wonder about the story hidden behind You can’t really see how dark her soul is Marks under her skin carved by the rules.
Just leave your hair down let the wind to play with it Run barefoot between trees let your skin to be scratched Jump into the river let it steal your heart Sleep under the stars let them steal your dreams.
I make a move because I know you’re watching say things you want to hear but I don’t mean them I cover my head to hide but in fact I want to be noticed ignore you every day just to draw your attention.
That’s what you want to believe in. That’s your only explanation.
All the things that were supposed to make me authentic, made me fake.
Do you know that feeling when someone from your surroundings suddenly decides to leave? One of your colleagues, your friend, a member of your family.
Then everyone gathers for a leaving party in a garden or pub. There is music on, people are chatting, drinks on the table. Familiar scents hit you and you just want to have a good time in a good company, not thinking about tomorrow. Because tomorrow will arise in different places for both of you.
Everything what’s good must end eventually, apparently, suddenly. And you’re left only with what’s uncomfortable and bitter. Left with responsibilities.
That party ends tonight and everyone has to say ‘goodbye’, so you also say ‘goodbye, I’ll miss you’ and you really mean it because you feel like you liked that person. At that time…
Are you really going to miss them?
You wake up the next day, drink coffee and go to work. You have your own life to live. Do you give a second thought to them, since they far away and you’re probably not going to meet again? Where is he? What is she doing when she’s not here?
The truth is, I rarely miss people, even though I say it out loud, even though I feel like I could. When you speak and speak. When there’s no end. When you ask and ask, but you don’t want to know about things that no one wants to know about. When you’re not someone special to me, I will not, actually, miss you. I don’t miss you.