Every inch i get closer to you there is a foot of imperfections listing in my head and blocking my heart from what is really there.
You touch me and my face turns red, not from being embarrassed but from that list rushing around in my head, and the make-believe reasons why this is so wrong attack my soul.
You know that saying its me not you?
Well its not me
its my mind.
There's an automatic switch that goes off and tells me to run.
Maybe deep down i think of Ted and getting hurt again.
The inches grow and my heart grows cold.
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