You and I, running on parallel lines.
Yet we never meet.
We keep thinking and wondering,
Probably along the same lines
But we never exchanged a word of understanding.
Or maybe things are just part of imagination,
It seemed like what it could be,
Then reality tells you otherwise.
Or maybe things are real,
You just don’t believe it could happen this way,
And your imagination forbids it.
We’re two parallel lines.
Misunderstandings, things that people never got around to make known, feelings hidden away, and sometimes maybe even self-deceit makes a fool out of you. Why is the truth so difficult to face?