And I think it was me.
Maybe it's the fact that that I sleep in socks some nights
and my cold feet don't search for yours under the covers anymore.
It could be that you're working so hard, and I'm working so not hard
and you think I'm lazy, which I am, and it's no longer "cute" anymore.
It could surely be that when I'm playing with your hair, my fingers sometimes get caught
How I can't remember if your birthday is in April or May
Or how I sometimes lose balance if we hug too long...
Maybe it's because I always fall asleep on the couch
And you're sick of carrying me to bed
It could be because I cry over everything and I shiver over the slightest breeze
And you're sick of holding me
And maybe it's me.
Maybe it's the fact that I pop my jaw a lot, and you hate it
Or maybe because you no longer tell me to stop when I bite my fingernails
And you're tired of our hands getting sweaty when they're together for too long
That love gets old
And the quirky things become pet peeves.
I can't wear socks to bed anymore or I feel like I'm suffocating
I have two jobs, I work every day, and your birthday is on May second
I'm dressing warmer this winter and I've stopped biting my nails
I did this for you.
When I fall asleep on the couch, I wake up there, too.