When do you let go? Of you, of me, of the picture, we had of us. The picture I had of you.
When do I let go?
When do I stop checking your page? When do I stop thinking? When do I stop imaging what we could've been?
There is a concept in my brain that I imagined implanted into my cells. It is a nuclear plan that was created by the maker above. "You will never be enough."
"It will never be enough."
" She will never be enough."
So tell me... when does it end? When do we decide? When do we feel satisfied?
Is there a time, a place, a night, a space?
Is there a location, a date, a person? Or is this just a long, drown out race?
Satisfied: sat·is·fied - adjective -contented; pleased