Enlightenment is a frontal lobotomy. Until you're gone, I don't want anyone to give it to me. My friends don't call me anymore. I miss sleeping underneath you on the floor. The cut on my leg looks like flowers from your old house. Morning beers and smokey nights. I want to press my face against yours, but I don't live here anymore. Love is just like my ambitions: indecisive and unambitious. I just hope you never forget, that there's nothing I ever really wanted to be. The only thing I'll ever miss, is rain in my ice cream.