I have this thing
Where I tell myself
That everything's a lie
The world
My memories
Your love and
The words that escape your lips.

I have this thing
Where I convince myself
That my world is make-belief
That it's self-deceiving
Thinking that you mean it,
And that our fairytale is just
Another untrue story

I think I need to realize
That what we have might just be real
And that nobody
Can stick to somebody like this
Unless they really care
And that the 52 reasons
Aren't something you'd have trouble finding