let lemons be angry

only once, but it feels like the hundredth time

i wish you wouldn't come round.
if you wouldn't come round,
you wouldn't look at me
and i wouldn't see you look at me
and you wouldn't hear me
and i wouldn't imagine conversations and explanations
and i wouldn't have things burning on the tip of my tongue
and i wouldn't freeze up like a little girl
and i wouldn't feel like a little girl
and i wouldn't be speechless, unfriendly, at a distance
and i wouldn't make a fool of myself
and i wouldn't remember that line of yours, so many years ago it was
and i wouldn't remember her
and i wouldn't slap myself as i walk away, and believe that i'm stupid, stupid,
and i wouldn't wish i could clear things up
and i wouldn't think, what if?,
and i wouldn't worry that i gave too much away
and i wouldn't worry about long-ago train rides
and i wouldn't stop to count the butterflies
and i wouldn't stop to count memories
and you wouldn't think i was strange
and i wouldn't think i was strange (for really, i am normal)
and i wouldn't feel so awful about having a large family

and i would forget all about you.