Shoebox

More and more, I find these lyrics relevant. That is a depressing thought, I know.
A key in the door, a step on the floor
A note on the table, and a meal in the micro
Note says "I'm in bed, please make sure that you're fed
if you're taking a shower, you can borrow my bathrobe
When I'm asleep I dream you move in next week"
I crumple the note and save it to put inside

Chorus:
My shoe box
Shoe box of lies
Shoe box
Shoe box of lies

it's under my bed, it's never been read
it's in with my school stuff and my mom never cleans there
From my first little fib, when I still wore a bib
To my latest attempt at pretending I'm someone
Who's not seventeen, doesn't know what you mean
When talk turns to single malts, or stilton, or

Chorus

Did somebody tell you
This is how it's supposed to be?
Or did you just find it
And you don't want any more from me?

Chorus

Was it something I said, or was it something you read
That's making me think that I should never have come here
I can offer you lies, I can tell you good-bye.
I can tell you I'm sorry, But I can't tell you the truth, dear
And what if I could -- would it do any good?
You'll still never get to see the contents of

Chorus

You're so nineteen-ninety
And it's nineteen-ninety-four
Leave this world behind me
'Cause you don't want me anymore

But I only bring it up because I looked through my own shoeboox tonight. It is under my bed, no one else ever reads it, and my mom never cleans there (neither do I, actually). And though the letters and notes in there must have been true when they were written, they aren't now. And that makes them a particular kind of sad lie. "To my true love, From your not so secret admirer." "To the love of my life" etc. Not to mention all the pictures... old proms, summer events, John looking drugged wearing a Hawaiian shirt (all for lost love of me.)
All in all, it makes for a pretty depressing looking experience. I don't know why I even looked at it. But I got off the phone with John, and that was pretty sad too. John, if you still read this, I don't know what to do about you. I still don't understand. Either why you did what you did, or considering, why you seem to think that things are just normal. I wish you would consider these things, seriously. I don't even know how to talk to you. You may have noticed this in our rather empty phone conversations. I don't know how tomorrow will be. I'm no longer sure that inviting you was a good idea. I don't hate you. I know you're afraid of that. Well, no worries on that front. And as much as I try, I do still have some shred of caring left. But I don't know what you really want from me. And even if I did, I doubt that I know how to give it to you.
I just don't understand. So many things. I guess I'll start with this. Why did you feel some strange sense of urgency? Why not let it dissolve naturally, since I was going to be leaving at the end of the summer anyway? What made you decide it had to be then?
And what do you want from me now? You've already confessed to me that you don't care as much as you did. That's why you put us here, or at least that is what you would have me believe. No one else believes you, and I want to, but I don't know if I can. I thought I knew you. We didn't have those barriers between us, or at least I thought we didn't. But now we do. So I have to look suspiciously at what you are saying to me. Maybe I shouldn't trust what you are saying now. Maybe I shouldn't trust anything you said for weeks beforehand.
March 30th. You remember this day? Do you? Because I do. One week before. I went down to see you, like every Wednesday. Why? Because I liked your company. Why? Because I loved you. Why? You tell me fucking why. We were in your room. I got a call on my cell. It was Andrew, he had gotten the scholarship, and I was sure it meant that I hadn't gotten one. But then I did get one. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, right then. You know I feel stupid now, admiitting that a huge part of that happiness was you. Was the mere idea that I might actually be able to afford to spend the next four years with you. Happy. Blissful, even. God. That milkshake, and then bridge that night. I really genuinely thought that you cared about me. And then, that night, on the way home you were grinning like the damn fool in love I guess you were pretending to be. You told me you loved me, and you looked into my eyes and said it like you meant it. I was the happiest person that day.
And one week later, just seven days later, you tell me you don't. That is has been a lie. That you don't care any more, that we should break up. And yes, I sat there like a moron. I sobbed as you ripped my heart out while looking at your shoes. And yes, I was the pitiable girl in the movie who sits there repeating "But I still love you" like a fucking broken record. Maybe I was lying too. Maybe I didn't actually love you, not like it used to be. But I cared about you very deeply. I could see our lives together. For a long time. But now, now?
What do you see, John? In the ashes of our wedding, in the ashes of what I must have dreamed we could have had, what do you see? Do you see me gone, waving to you as I move on? Or is it the other way around?Have you moved on already? Is that why you keep calling me? Because you have already given up on all the things we had? Or were you done when you said the words? Accepted this reality already?
I don't know what you want. I simply do not understand you anymore. So, you'll have to lay it all out for me, like I've been trying my damndest to do for you.
What do you want from me?