If I hadn't already hated myself I could have loved you,
I was too far gone to let that kind of light in.
Maybe if I had learn to except who I was
I could have valued who you were.
If I wasn't so busy trying to live the perfect life,
I would have let you love my imperfections.
If I hadn't demanded so much from you,
You would have given me what I never thought I wanted.
Maybe, maybe I could have loved you.
If only I wasn't so busy hating myself.

And now...

I live here alone in this big house.
Hating the walls, the floors, the windows.
Especially the windows, they are liars.
Promising more just outside their transparency.
I know that there is nothing out there.
At least nothing I want.
This brightness is no longer the sun.
But the light at the end of a quickly shortening tunnel...

I'm pretty sure it's a train.