don't you think we oughta know by now?

Tiny little gear wheels make bigger gear wheels go around and get our lives moving on. They're all spinning in crazy directions and sooner or later, they all go back to the place they started. Little cicles to bigger cicles. Going all the way up, falling all the way down only to realise that the fall is what impulses us to the rise. And it spins so fast sometimes that is hard to even tell if we're going up or down.

Since the day you got yourself wheeled to my life, you've been messing me up with every spin. You sometimes rule all the other wheels, they sometimes try to stop you from turning me into this pathetic form of lover. Everytime I find a new wheel to replace you, I realise that what turns me on is whatever resemblence they have with you. And I immediately turn off the wheel and the wheel turns me off. You cease to move me when someone else does but then they only move me because they move like you do and when I realise that, you move me back to your power. Like a cicle. A fucking cicle.

I can't tell which of our wheels is spinning to the wrong direction but I guess this may mean something, as I was so sure up until now. I don't know if you're drowning on a fairy tale with a clear expiration date or if you're truly happy and I can't see it cause the envy is blinding me. Is it envy though? Or is it me growing up before you again? Are you stuck on your Peter Pan Syndrom or am I just becoming the bitchy cat lady?

One of us is wrong here. And I think we should have learned somehow.