AN: I've never actually heard the tune before, but I love Sondheim's lyrics. Please drop me a little comment if you are so inclined. If anyone is interested I'll add more.
I have a love,
and it's all that I have.
It doesn't matter what people try to tell you so they don't have your suicide on their conscience, sometimes you just don't have anything really worth writing home about. You can have your condo, your Swedish furniture and your lye burns or your perfect life with your perfect spouse and your perfect kids and your perfect gardenias. Despite the world's alluding to the idea that I should have been a victim of the latter, I get on fine. I have my job. It's not perfect, but I guess it's better than temping myself to death while clinging onto some night-school dream. It fills up the empty hours with case files and an endless procession of rich folks and their skeletons. And Bobby.
Right or wrong, what else can I do?
And it doesn't matter that they've got their finger on the button as far as my career's concerned. Sure, I could have been a captain, or a lieutenant at the very least, but I could have been a lot of other things too – bored, miserable, lonely, up to my eyeballs in hacks and paperwork...This was what I wanted to do. Who cares if it's "unconventional and unproductive"? I don't want any part in dodging that bullet. We're a team; we're not meant to be more than one entity, or more than one mistake.
I love him; I'm his,
And everything he is,
I am too.
Ergo, I am a dangerous, free-thinking, psychotic liability with no future in this department or in any other sphere of life.
That doesn't matter either. I'm staring my future in the face right now. And he's trying to pretend he's not staring back.