I hate that you've already made your mind up but then again that's how I feel, just my opinion, nothing questionable.
I think you talk just to fill the silence and I laugh because silence is golden and I want silver lined pockets.
"What's your story?" you ask and my smile, mischievous as always, sparks doubting thoughts inside your head. "I really don't know, haven't written it yet..." and truly I haven't.
"You have a healthy baby boy," the doc announces beaming brightly at you and me. "Have you picked out a name yet?" I nod, "He will be my little Procrastination Junior and he will grow to be just like his father..." and you smile because you're just that proud.
And I hate that you've already made up your mind, you want to teach him to play football and play the sax and its fine... for now. But you put off teaching him his 'ABC's' because they're so easy like '123' because his momma is taking care of him.
And I hate that in all of this I've allowed you to make up your mind and forgotten how to think in a way that is all my own.
I hate that you've already made your mind up but then again that is how I feel and thank god I have an opinion and its all questionable because its mine: thought up by me, myself and I.
And I don't care... so get gone and stay gone. Now my minds all made up.
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