[Verse 1] I wait violently for someone to ask me to come around. To hang out. To talk to. To drink with. To have sex with. To go outside with. To text with. But it all inevitably ends. Friends go home, lovers never stick around, and family lives too far. [Chorus] And when they’re gone and I’m alone, it’s like I stop being real. I power off. I go back to waiting for someone to approach again. [Verse 2] I try to do things by myself, to give myself purpose. Dance, visit museums, go on walks, watch movies, hang out with my pets. But the desperation to be acknowledged is never satisfied. [Chorus] I don’t exist myself. I’m not a main character. I think I’m a supporting one, even in my own life — made to make others feel loved and cared for, then shut down until I’m needed again. [Bridge] But I am so desperate. 27 years on this earth, countless hours in therapy, pills I don’t take anymore, and I still feel the same. [Outro] I’m not a part of this world on my own, although I try really hard to be. I am only activated when acknowledged by someone who is real. And then I go back. Back to my apartment. To the darkness, to the emptiness. Pacing. Restless. Waiting to be started up again.
