It’s no secret I bought your love.
They never want me until they’ve seen me play. It’s funny, no matter how bright the boys are they always confuse me for the music. They think bringing me to their lips might be the same as singing.

So I played you a song knowing you’d reinvent me in your image, take me wrongly for a soulmate, bring me home to your heart and assume I’d done the same.

There are so many in the darkness of my memory, locked in boxes and coated in dust, so many who in the early mornings traced the shape of my spine with their fingers, spelled out their secrets to the girl they thought I was. I collected them like colored thread to keep for stories, for other songs, and I thought every moment was thick with meaning.

And it never failed to surprise me when the meaning fell to pieces at the hands of my imperfection.

I guess I’m sorry, because I lied to you, in a way.
But you should know better than to listen when a pretty girl starts to sing.