When you walk (arms folded, long hair tied tight) 
away from all the things you tried too hard to forget 
I can see how much we always had in common.
We're all heartsick, broke, and searching for direction. 
Keep up appearances. Keep up the facade. 
Leaving us to ask the age-old-question, 
"What the hell is wrong with girls these days?"
I can't see far enough ahead to find out 
which one of us is wasting our time, 
but I'm pretty sure that the answer will come eventually.
You're not as funny as I thought you would be before we 
met.