A secret.

Common coincidence leads us astray on streets that are made of foreign signs.
Tell me a secret, and I'll tell you a story.
You are that girl, the one with the quirks, which are remembered for their oddity and cuteness.
I am that guy, so full of himself that lately life has almost stopped buying stock.
But you find me genuine.
I think we're a bad idea.
A bad idea so good that I paint pictures in my notebooks with words about you.
A bad idea so good that I don't call you,
Because I hate the sound of shattered glass.
But the songs I would write, and the smiles you would give
And the places we'd go would make us make sense,
Which sometimes is all we really need.
But we cannot give in to temptation, can we?
We are both wet clay, untrodden by hands.
Tell me a secret; one worth sharing.
One I won't forget in this place of forgetting.
May it act as a handhold on this climb or this fall.
And I'll tell you that I think about you when it rains.
And when I finish a good book.
And when the sun shines through my bedroom window when I wake up.
And when the radio is silent, but I'm singing anyway and the road losses itself in foolishness.
Because that's all I want to say, and it's really all you need to hear.
For after all your a bad idea.
A bad idea so good, that I'm feeling reckless.