it's hard to have friends when we're all depressed.

it was strange the way it suddenly felt

like we'd been caring for each other 

through a pane of glass,

and all at once i thought: 

we're going to 

grow old with other people.

because i can't remember the reasons why 

i was in love with you for two years,

and months ago, i wrote long letters to tell you 

you were lovely.

i'm sorry, it's probably just because i'm sad;
i don't like myself or anyone all that much this week,
i have my own insecurities burning new on my hip,
and it's hard to find a position to sleep in,

and this summer is disappointing me already.

i just want to play songs with everyone.