And I am that thing that you will outgrow, like an old lumpy toy rabbit, worn and patched, in favor of pretty, more traditional aspirations.
And I guess that's fine, that's fucking cool. That's the way its supposed to be. You're both so perfect for eachother its like lyrics from a sappy indie song, and who am I, just a mechanical puppeteer, to interfere with fate?
We're just bros.
Adolescents play at love games and boys will be boys and all that bs.
Still, I don't want to be boxed up in the attic like broken toys from a child grown, packed away from your love and affection because you've outgrown those games, Jake.
Because its not a game, Jake.
Its not.
