When you say thank you to me,
for some reason, it hurts;
like a magic spell that doesn’t
get undone, even after the goodbye.
A hint of bitterness.
The flavor of life.
The flavor of life.
Stuck midpoint between friends and lovers,
like an unripe fruit dreaming about the day of harvest.
Being unable to just move one more step forward
is what’s causing this frustration, baby.
When you say thank you to me,
for some reason, it hurts;
like a magic spell that doesn’t
get undone, even after the goodbye.
A hint of bitterness.
The flavor of life.
The flavor of life.
Sweet talk and tasteless conversations,
it sparks no interest in me.
Even when things do not go the way you want,
it doesn’t mean you’ve thrown your life away.
When asked, “What’s wrong?”
I answer, “It’s nothing.”
The smile that disappears after goodbye,
it’s unlike me.
The more I wish to believe in you,
for some reason, it hurts even more.
“I like you a lot,” instead of “I love you,” sounds more like you.
The flavor of life.
The period when you suddenly remember the scent of someone you had almost forgotten.
I want to be able to openly and honestly cherish the white purity of the falling snow more.
A future, tender and warmer than a diamond,
I want to grasp it.
In this limited time we have,
I want to spend it with you.
When you say thank you to me,
for some reason, it hurts;
like a magic spell that doesn’t
get undone, even after the goodbye.
A hint of bitterness.
The flavor of life.
The flavor of life.
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