Some of you I'll love forever,
some of you I won't.
And we could talk about the weather
or be adults and bury the ghosts.
But I am scared of the sureness
that says you'll always be here.
Don't be shocked by the force of my shyness
when your body is near.
Could you believe,
could you believe,
could you believe I hurt just like you do?
Some of you I'll always remember,
and some of you I already don't.
There have been far too many Novembers
to bide on what could have been born.
But I don't need any more proof,
time has sounded the horn.
Some loves will be loved and stay true,
some will pass like a storm.
But could you believe,
could you believe,
could you believe I hurt just like you do?
