surprise party.

You used to sing these songs that I know.

And you used to sing them with me.

Now you sing them straight into the wind.

And this anguish is something you've chosen

to avoid acknowledging completely.

The more I go out,

the more I wish I had just stayed in.

The more I see,

the more I feel my head cave in.

You tell me not to be a stranger,

as I'm walking away faster than I came.

Recognizing you isn't easy,

masquerading around with a different name.

You say, don't be a stranger.

I wonder why we're having this conversation again.

You're avoiding my eyes,

and I can't think of what else I've ever been.

You say I shouldn't be a stranger.

It's the same conversation on repeat.

You're as vague as ever,

and I wonder what else I'll ever be.

I feel like a stranger

to an inexpressible degree.

It doesn't matter where I am

I'm never where you'll be.

I'm nothing more than a stranger,

passing by so fast you can't see.

I'm never what you're wishing for,

because I'm only ever what you ask me to be.