Too many times have I rushed things,
Feeling like I have my life to explain,
Hastily telling them all Ive got within me,
When they don’t even know me for who I am yet.
Pressuring myself to tell them about my past,
Hoping Ill keep them interested with exciting stories,
But its all nonsense.
How could someone understand what makes someone who they are,
When they haven’t spend a full day from dawn to dusk together;
Haven’t seen them grumpy in the morning,
Grabbing onto their little coffee cup.
How could you understand what makes her happy,
If you’ve never surprised her with sunflowers before,
Seen her tears of joy?
Its so easy to tell stories of whats supposed to make you who you are,
But you are not who you used to be;
People change, and to fully know someone takes patience and time.
I want to see you get mad, and lose your temper.
I want to see what makes you uncomfortable,
What makes you smile.
I want to see you on a cloudy day, trapped inside, boredom striking.
How you talk when you’re tired,
And how you act around your friends.
I want to experience how you treat others,
And when you’re stressing out.
I guess what I’m trying to say,
Is that in todays time, people feel like they have to explain themselves and their life,
As soon as they meet someone that entices them.
As if it would change anything of what they know about you,
When it really doesn’t.
Instead, live a little, make your own stories worth telling.
And in those stories, find your own definition, of what that person is.
Someones past and what stories they tell, is not who they are;
Its who they used to be.