The dirt that the broom missed

I sat in the corner of the elevator with my head between my knees wishing I would've taken the stairs so I'd have more time to think about what I'd do at the top. But 38 floors was a long way up and I wish I wasn't always in a hurry.

I probably won't ever get on the back of a motorcycle again because I still have scars from the last time I did. And neither of us were wearing helmets.

The problem with falling in love is that when you fall you eventually hit the ground. And no one promised that it would be a soft landing. So I never jumped. 

I've never broken a bone and I don't plan on tarnishing my perfect record falling for you.

You told me to stop being so reserved but I don't trust you when you say you care about me. Because I thought he did Sophomore year and all that got me was numbness without tears and a heart with too much scar tissue.

And I don't think I want to feel everything that love is supposed to bring if there's any chance that I won't get to have it forever because forever passed it's expiration date the day I turned 17.

I'm standing on a ledge here and the only thing holding me is the thought of how much it will hurt after the falling takes my breath away, but you already stole my breath and you didn't even have to push me.

I blame you every time my lungs forget how to do what God put them in my chest to do. 

I guess I shouldn't judge them though because God put me here and I forgot too.

Someone remind me why I haven't jumped yet. 

I think I might soon.