John pick up the phone. I missed my flight. I’m stuck in Charlotte for the night. Call me back.
The lights at the gate won’t turn off or dim. I’m sitting here wide awake, and John, I’ve been thinking:
I don’t love the way that you think you need to save me from my own poor decisions,
And I never feel quite so much the fuckup as when you try to tell me I’m not a fuckup.
You don’t have to wait for me. Go find a guy with a light heart and steady footing.
You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be just fine. I know what the fuck I’m doing.
I don’t really need someone to believe in me. I’m always just only 6 weeks from perfection.
And oh, holy shit, you won’t believe this mess I’m in, but it’s OK… i’m nothing if not potential.
You don’t have to wait for me, John. It’s not your job to sit and hold the center.
You don’t have to wait for me, John. I’ll be fine, I’m always getting better
You once said I was the greatest, and by that you meant I’m hopeless.
I’d tell you that you’re amazing, because I was so afraid that you’d leave me...