Leonard Cohen knows.

...Another Leonard Cohen night. Incense, darkness and talk with Lisa.

Feeling trapped in myself and my words. Crying again, but nobody knows. Not even you. I couldn't explain anyway.
Lisa says I'm the intellectual, travelling, extremely interesting person everybody's jealous of. But then why do I feel like such a social misfit? Words can't reach me tonight.
Everything feels wrong tonight. I need a break from myself. Wish I could leave myself behind for a while.
I don't hate myself, I'm not destructive enough. I want to save myself from this. But from what? There's nothing there but thin air. But I'm not supposed to be like this anymore, this wasn't supposed to be me anymore. I don't understand.

I can't explain myself, so I tell you not to sleep here, even though I want nothing more than to just see you creep down into my bed and just hold me tight. But then you'd ask me why mascara is all around my eyes, why my cheeks are wet, and my silence would worry you. I don't have a reason you see. At least not one I could put into words, not even to myself.

Tomorrow I will wake up as usual, this night long forgotten.
And i will see you and i will feel stupid and i will feel so happy to hold your beautiful face in my hands.
My one and only.