Quick thing I wrote when listening to: /watch?v=q-v-RqgU4eQ

The title of the song means 'The World Is Not Enough For Me'

Also try listening to 'Qui Per Te': /watch?v=bXdA5eKpZso

That song is very, very fitting to England and America's relationship (from Englands POV) Search the lyrics up, you'll see.

I'm physically addicted to Italian music.

America's smile was one thing England both loved and despised – it was too bright, but it was beautiful; it was too often, but it was care free; it was fake. But it was at least something.

England rarely ever smiled as he knew himself – sure a smirk, sure a chuckle, here and there. But it had never gone past that. It had been far, far too long since he had laughed his heart out. Since he had burst into tears laughing. Since he had felt the infectious feathery feeling building up inside him – bubbling like a soda and threatening to make him cry with happiness as his stomach ached. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry, so much.

But his pride ever so easily stopped that. It held him together. It was engraved in his stubborn bones, fluid in his blood, swirling in his head and telling him what to say. Was America the same? Did he hide behind his pride like the rainy nation did?

Probably not. He must be really happy. He's free. Like he has always wanted to be.

And that hurt. What America had, England never could – England couldn't be free. He couldn't fly and escape everything the world had grounded him to. He couldn't escape the world that simply wasn't enough for him. England couldn't feel the wind whip and flick against his skin in his childish old adventures of the sea. He couldn't scream out how much happiness he had when he stood in that empty field of that day - instead, he had cried. He cried as America's musket was pulled away. He cried with such happiness. Because America hated him. And America had finally gone, free and happy – without the burden of the nation that wanted to clip his wings to hold him just a bit closer.

America was happy, England was not.

But that was okay. Because that's all England needed.

After all, he was just a bitter old man, clinging to his little stories with his frail hands. All he needed was America's happy ending, not his.

So selfless, right? So unlike England, because this, of course, all this was not for his own need. It was all for America and his soaring dreams, his brimming heart. It was for his prideful nature that ever so needed to fly away from England's weak nest. A weak nest made of loneliness. England's loneliness.

Because that was the cold hard truth.

England was alone.

No one could fix that.

England had always been alone.