It will never be enough, nothing I can do will ever be enough, you will never grasp the entire concept as I won't really explain it and you will never know what I meant.
Not when I don't know what to say.
Not when I don't know what to do.
Not when I don't even know what I meant or felt.
Not when you are not me and you can't help in sorting out myself.
We are very good friends.
Better than we know. Less that what it could be.
Connected by something.
Maybe the akwardness in understanding feelings at their core.
(...)
Maybe it was just fortune putting us in each other's way.
Even though I don't believe in fortune. Yet recognising that I couldn't really ever see this coming.
I just don't know. It's always like this. I always get the feeling I have so many, this insane amount of, things to say to you, yet I don't know what it is.
I adore you. I miss you already.
And if the song I wrote went to its final chords and I'd never see you again I would say I have loved you.
One will never know if the truth lies in the whispered comments, the doubts in everyone's minds, the impressions that were given or in what was actually there: an apparent nothing full of countless things.
