You look at me like you always do
You don't have a clue

I used to think I was crazy, I would catch these glimpses from you through the glass…and the look in your eyes. It was almost like you wanted something more for us. But I would just brush it off. Why would you want anything to do with me? I put myself out on the line and it was always ignored by you. And I would wind up heartbroken time and time again. You were completely and totally oblivious to me.

You smile at me, you hug me
But, you don't know I want you

You had this tendency to swing me around at the wrap of an album. I felt feather light in your arms and so right against you body. I would effortlessly twirl in the air, clinging to you before you gently set me down again. The smile on your face was what I lived for, to see you look at me like that. But you had brushed me off so many times; you had no idea that I still wanted you. No idea I still lived for our private moments together.

You play with me
You flirt with me

You kept a platonic relationship in your eyes. It was totally normal for us to be attached at the hip, to spend the day together, goofing off at the park or pier before going in to record late at night so no one would distract us, or spend the day recording then go out to dinner afterwards. You must have been oblivious to the looks that people were giving us. Or to the fact that everyone was pulling me aside, asking if there was something going on. I had mastered the art of the nonchalant shrug and reassuring 'no, of course not.' They never noticed I would always dart off to the bathroom afterwards, where my heart would break all over again and I would have to pull myself together to go and face you one more time.

You tell me all your secrets
But to you, I'm just your friend

You had given up on relationships. You never really said those words to me, but there was always something wrong with her. As much as it hurt me to love you, maybe if you moved on, so could I. I would point out cute girls, ones who would have you in a second, and it was 'I don't do brunettes.' But when it was a blonde, you didn't do them, or red heads, when it was them. You always managed to find some flaw in them all. And so we were stuck again. You pretending like we weren't a "we" and me crying myself to sleep. But you talked a big game with the guys, about whatever girl you bagged the night before. And during our recording breaks, after you sent Kwest out, you would tell me otherwise. Almost like you wanted me to know that there was no one else. But why did you even bother with what I thought?

I try my best to rid these thoughts
Of you and I, it's so hard

Sadie realized what was going on. She was always good at those things. She had come into my room one day, to ask me some inane question and I was holding a frame in my hands, it was us one of the nights we had gone out to dinner after recording in the studio. A fan had come up to us, afraid she was interrupting. Two of her favorite celebrities together…what a priceless picture for her. And for us too, as it turned out. She sent two copies of it to G-Major weeks later. Yours is still framed on your desk, where you should be keeping pictures of family and girlfriends. Mine was on my night stand. Until all of the things that reminded me of you disappeared.

When you come to me, I fall back on my knees
I've learned to hate love

From that day on, everything was safely tucked away in a box. It's still hidden behind things on the top shelf of my closet. Which is very typical breakup type material if you ask me. All of our pictures, memories, even my journal from you found a new home in that box. I got a new one. One without a message from you in it. I felt bad lying to you about the other one; I couldn't look at you when I saw your expression asking me about the old one. I came up with some lie…Sadie spilt something all over it. That's what I told you always. I thought the new journal would make writing a little less painful, but it didn't help at all.

You kiss me on the cheek, you say
You'd never make it without me

You started your own album. You finally had the confidence to write again. I wish you hadn't told said it was because of me. We had finished early one day, I was completely baffled because I was done working but you wanted me to stay. You begged me to stay. We were sitting knee to knee, the chairs facing in each and you held both of my hands all the while your eyes, those damn eyes, shone with excitement.

You leaned in to whisper your secret to me and I could feel myself getting lightheaded as I was overwhelmed with you. I don't really remember what you said about starting your album again, I just remember your lips lightly on my cheek right before you whispered that you would have never done it if it weren't for me.

It's getting harder everyday
Please don't say to me

I don't know if I can hold onto myself together anymore. You were doing fine for awhile. You weren't killing me as much anymore. And then midway through your album, actually, midway through recording a song….something clicked for you. And it killed me all over again. I was tempted to run to the bathroom, but it never stopped you before, why would it stop you now? I sat there, frozen as you looked at me, begging me to reply. So we could finally have an acknowledged shared moment. It would never happen.

Don't say I love you
Don't say you need me

Maybe you realized that the lyrics you were writing were all about me. Everyone else saw it but you. You claimed random inspiration and past girlfriends. But there were no girlfriend's current enough for you to even remember. So you and I had finally switched roles, you were in the recording booth, and I on the other side of the glass. Looking at me the same way I looked at you when we recorded White Lines. I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell you I loved you back.

My heart can't take it
I love you so much

I wanted to say yes. I so desperately wanted to tell you how much I loved you. And when I went to open my mouth, fear clamped it shut again and I sadly shook my head from side to side. I wouldn't be hurt again, instead you would finally know the hell I went through all those times. Glossy tears rolled down my cheeks as I whispered, "I'm sorry," my voice cracking. You just smiled at me weakly, understanding it all.

I hate love