Am I?

Do I have to believe in sunday mornings?

Do I have to believe in love, after all?

I see my White Angel coming and going

I see myself crying on the corner 

It's nobody's fault but I'm a mess

My White Angel is always jumping around

Sometimes I feel so small in this short hair

Sometimes I barely get out of the ground

I should blame you for all my pieces 

'Cause I was just one piece when you came back 

But I would lie, I was not a whole person

I just tryed to be, but didn't work out

We would never work out

And I'm done

Of thinking about you, of remembering you

I'm so fucking done

Of seeing you in my dreams, of remember your skin

I don't wanna think anymore

I don't wanna miss you anymore

I'm done of feeling you're bigger than me

'Cause it doesn't matter anymore

I'm done of loving you.

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