My Love Life Set to a Maroon 5 Album, Vol. 2
“There must be someplace here that only you and I could go/So I can show you how I feel”
Click here to read the first part of My Love Life Set to a Maroon 5 Album.
“There’s only so much I can do for you/After all of the things you put me through” – Must Get Out
I let you see and feel the innermost parts of me that were hidden out of plain sight and you held my secrets with gentleness. I kept yours, too. Some of them were frightening, many full of happiness, but most were heartbreaking. After a while, though, the weight of the secrets amongst us must have made you realize that there was one too many people who were sharing in those secrets. I think that’s was what broke us apart in the end.
“My fingers trace your every outline/Yeah/Paint a picture with my hands” – Sunday Morning
You offered your home to me and I gladly accepted. Waking up next to you was not exactly unexpected. Lying in bed with you was an experience that I hadn’t thought much about, but once the moment arrived, it felt incredibly natural. We faced each other, continuing our conversation and laughing until you dozed off. It took me a little longer to get to bed, it always did, and I watched you fall deeper into your dream. The silhouette of your frame rose and fell softly with each breath that you took. I was mesmerized, falling into rhythm with you as I myself drifted to sleep. By the time you stirred awake and your hand met my shoulder blades, I’d realized that this was what I wanted. Simple, uncomplicated, pure. You were there for so long before this moment and the idea never took root until it was in my face – literally – and after, it was all that I could think about.
“Watch the sunrise/Say your goodbyes/Off we go/Some conversation/No contemplation/Hit the road” – Secret
I think I knew before you did. What we started, while it was great, had reached its end. You knew it, too. You were just being stubborn about calling it. Well, time to get off this ride before someone gets hurt. Because even though we said it wouldn’t end like that for us, we knew it was a joke. It would always ends the same way – even if we took a different route to get there. Let’s walk away now and while we’ve both got our wits about us and spare ourselves a messy conclusion to this thing. But let’s skip the actual talking about what happened and why I no longer want to be bothered with you. Can we just get to the part where we start subtly avoiding each other’s person unless we’re forced to? That would be most ideal. Thanks for being so understanding!
“And how long has it been/Since someone you let in/Has given what I gave to you?/And at night/When you sleep/Do you dream I would be there?” – Through With You
Here’s the thing: There would have been no one else in the world who would have loved you and supported you in all your dreams more than I would. Absolutely no one. You wanted to be greedy, though, and in doing so, you choose the one girl who would later on tell me everything that she did with you and to you. In such great detail, I could swear I was sitting there in the room with the both of you. Your bad, huh? You really blew it. Everyone seems to know this – except you. I know you miss me. You don’t tell me directly; instead, you play coy with texts from old jokes started years ago when the going was good. Here’s the other thing: You will continue to miss me, especially when you find out about the new guy in my life. You’ll be sick to your stomach as you watch us smile and hold hands in town or post pictures of date nights, from a lazy movie night to a Mediterranean restaurant in that little dress that you loved to see on me. And I won’t feel an ounce of sorrow for what could have been because you had to learn the consequences of your actions. I had to learn, too. From your actions I hit rock bottom, pulled myself up out of the mud and mire and found myself – plus someone to accept me and care for me just as I am. And even if I didn’t find him, finding myself would have been lesson enough to make what I endured worth it. Almost.
“You do not know how much this hurts me/To say the things that I don’t want to say/But have to say it anyway” – Not Coming Home
Sometimes I wonder if you really don’t comprehend the pain that you’ve caused me from all that you’ve done or if you really just don’t give a fuck about me or my feelings. I can’t decide what’s worse. Truly, I wrack my brain and both options seem equally unappealing when I weigh them against each other. I can’t judge it. Even as you continue to say inconsiderate things to me about the former us, my first instinct it to hold my tongue to spare your feelings. My second instinct is to call you everything under the sun but a child of God, but there has to be a happy medium … Right? I know how deep words can cut and given our convoluted relationship, I know my words can do more damage than you’ll ever care to let on. I don’t want to carry that guilt on my shoulders, you’ve placed far too much there already. So, true to form, I tell you what you’re doing – making me feel less than – and also true to form, you say something like, “I didn’t even do nothing.” This cycle needs to be broken. You need to hear the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth … so help me, God.
“There must be someplace here that only you and I could go/So I can show you how I feel” – Sweetest Goodbye
The weight of things unsaid often makes it difficult to breathe. Hearing your uncommonly common name roll off the tongues of others so easily shoots electric signals up and down my spine. Why is it that I find it so easy to talk to you about everything else but the way I feel about you? I want to tell you to help you understand, and maybe share, in the comfort I feel when I’m with you. “Next time,” I say to myself. “Next time we’re sitting on the couch or getting ready for bed, I’ll tell him that I like him as more than just a friend.” To sum it up so plainly seems a crime, but it’s all I think I can handle. If you respond well, maybe I’ll gush everything else to you in one incomprehensible babbling sentence and top it off with a kiss. If you don’t, I’ll still gush, but only to my best friend – never to you again. Then the moment comes when you’re handing me an old t-shirt and shorts. My brain is demanding: “Say it!” My heart is softly contradicting, whispering: “Be cautious.” My mouth, unable to stop itself, simply says: “Thank you,” smiling sheepishly as though you can hear my inner monologue and are waiting yourself to see which one wins out in the end. 
