I'm gonna be sick with this,
with these times I have no peace...
Checking my emails every single minute,
remembering your smile in every single thought,
fantasizing every single possibility,
agonizing mental tortures about our chances,
going to the bathroom to suffer in privateness,
failing in the trials of thinking in anything else,
wondering when will be the next time we're gonna chat.
I've been afflicted all the time,
imagining how to get on your side,
wishing you, wishing only you,
wishing so bad it comes true!
And almost crying by thinking it probably won't.
Believe me, please, believe me,
I don't want you to be another one
i'll keep in the shelf of unrequited feelings
that could have worked
if things were a little bit different.
It needs to work someday.
It has to, I believe to, oh yes, I do.
I'm gonna be sick with this.
Well, I think I'm already sick.
Sick for passion, for desire, for believing,
for this neverending wait,
sick for longing.