There is plenty of fish in the sea. But I keep to myself. I have never been a bust the windows of your car kind of girl. I am more of the I will bury this pain so deep in my soul it will eat me up inside out variety. What's a girl with a first time broken heart to do.
I step out of the bus, thinking I must look like I just stepped out of the short bus, whith that idiot grin on my face. Feeling smaller, all of a sudden.
Now that I'm back, and the shit seems to have finally hit the fan, I keep my shame to myself. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and so am I. But I already know what they'll say, and it's not like it's any of their business anyway. So I keep it to myself. I don't want to be conditioned. My friends know the rational me, but they don't know jack about my heart.
That can't be good, and I know it, that I don't want them to know what I give free passes for. I already know their phantom advice and I take it into account. But without the pressure of having them actually knowing what happened. I don't even want to know what happened.
And so I clear my mind. And try to let go of it, as if it never happened. But she won't. She keeps bringing it up. Bringing her up. It's just not a drop on the ocean anymore and I begin to see more clearly.
Still I see the not so few good things. Even the great ones. Somebody who respects you enough to tell you the truth, while you have the confidence to hear it, that is hard to find.
Yet again, there always was and always will be plenty of fish in the sea. Only some new fish is already knocking on my window.
I step out of the bus, thinking I must look like I just stepped out of the short bus, whith that idiot grin on my face. Feeling smaller, all of a sudden.
Now that I'm back, and the shit seems to have finally hit the fan, I keep my shame to myself. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and so am I. But I already know what they'll say, and it's not like it's any of their business anyway. So I keep it to myself. I don't want to be conditioned. My friends know the rational me, but they don't know jack about my heart.
That can't be good, and I know it, that I don't want them to know what I give free passes for. I already know their phantom advice and I take it into account. But without the pressure of having them actually knowing what happened. I don't even want to know what happened.
And so I clear my mind. And try to let go of it, as if it never happened. But she won't. She keeps bringing it up. Bringing her up. It's just not a drop on the ocean anymore and I begin to see more clearly.
Still I see the not so few good things. Even the great ones. Somebody who respects you enough to tell you the truth, while you have the confidence to hear it, that is hard to find.
Yet again, there always was and always will be plenty of fish in the sea. Only some new fish is already knocking on my window.
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