This is to the moments that come too late and leave too soon.
To the ones that leave you broken.
The ones that leave your heart in ruins.
The ones you never forget.
The ones you wish you didn’t remember.

This is to bad hair days.
To breaking your heels.
To tripping on stage.
To dancing gracefully.
To not knowing how to dance.

This is to the heart breakers.
To being on the unrequited side of unrequited love.
To the guy thet’s “just a friend”.
To the person that mends your heart.
To being on the requited side of unrequited love.

This is to the seven deadly sins.
This is to having to go to confession every Saturday.
To forgiving, but never forgetting.
To being forgotten, but never forgiven.
To being too sorry to apologize.

This is to rejection.
To break ups.
To sad movies and tons of ice cream.
To watching him kiss her.
To being her.

This is to taking your time.
To moving too fast.
To wanting to stop time.
To being left behind.
To driving too fast and crashing.

This is to secrets never told.
To secrets never kept.
To ruining reputations.
To having no secrets.
To gossip.

This is to tradition.
To keeping it and breaking it.
To being polite and being rude.
To revolutionaries.
To pushing the limits and being stuck inside the boundaries.

This is to quiet afternoons.
To lonely, sleepless nights that seem to drag on forever.
To late mornings that make you late for work.
To chilly autumn evenings.
To long, hot summer days.

This is to holding.
To being held.
To being cold.
To being warmed up.
To looking cold just to be held.

This is to the person you love.
To the person that loves you.
To the person you marry.
To all of the above being the same person.
To all of the above being three different people.

This is to being too picky.
This is to wanting too much.
This is to being too much or not enough.
To settling for less.
To not deserving more.

This is to pain.
To being numb.
To crying for someone.
To being the reason someone cries.
To getting hurt and doing the hurting.

This is to truth.
To unforgivable lies.
To thank yous and I love yous.
To screw yous and I hate yous.
To never meaning what you say or saying what you mean.

This is to birth.
To death.
To arrivals.
To departures.
To knowing they’re never coming back.

This is to reality and fantasy and not knowing which one is which.
This is to love and hate.
This is to anger and buckets of tears.
This is to war and peace.
This is to impure purity and perfect imperfection.

This is to those who had dreams.
To those who had nightmares.
To those who made their dreams their reality.
To those whose nightmares were past experiences.
To those who are afraid to dream.

This is to nostalgia.
This is to nausea and butterflies in your stomach.
This is to your knees feeling so weak, to your ankles being ready to break.
This is to remembering the taste of his kiss.
This is to being lost in the past you can never escape.

This is to those who were me.
To those I wished I could be.
To those who found themselves.
To those who created themselves.
To those who destroyed themselves.

This is to those who suffered.
To those who were abused.
To those who thought themselves worthless.
To everyone who was their own worst enemy.
I was you.

This is to him, her.
This is to us, them.
This is to me, you.
This is to nobody.
To nobody but me.