I will never get used to not loving you,
my heart felt so comfortable in your love.
I know we were stupid,
young loving idiots, and no passion for patience.
I was complete at your side and was proud.
perfection is fiction
Memories are good to me,
I sleep with them at night,
touch their soft and tender skin,
enter them let'em enter me.
My breath sends a spell for you,
over the moon and back to your heart-
a spell for wounded lovers.
I don't get used to not loving you,
and I don't blame us for being,
such young stupid lovers,
with no passion for patience.
I will get used to missing you,
but I will never get used to not loving you.