You're Cycling Into Yourself Into Me.

I don't think I'll ever really understand how you do things like this, shaving your head without looking in the mirror. I remember looking over when you told me "this couch can't fit the three of us unless you squeeze in over there." I had to sing your songs first, and map it all out.

 I tried my best to dig through photos of people in places I don't recognize all that well, though you insisted it was your home, and I had been there too, I can't remember it.

 I'm still not sure where I am but you're driving, and pretty calmly too. You took the strangest route home and each passing streetlight felt like some sort of competition to me and you were going on telling me I shouldn't really be sad this often. I couldn't stomach that and you started speeding up and I finally heard the music coming out next to the dash.

 You're too realistic with the things you say lately.