You fit perfectly in all the crevices of the brokenhearted. Finishing off what other men started but departed because they didn't have the courage to put their all in. Washing away the filthy stains from the dirt where other men planted seeds, but weren't patient enough to watch them grow. and, whispering sweet nothings to a damsel in distress, dressed in black because she is in mourning. Hoarding memories deep in her subconscious that keeps trying to save the men who couldn't save her. Treating her like a queen, yet she remains suspicious because she remains unaware of her own position. Afflicted minds, hearts constricted so she refuses to let you in. So used to hurt she will not let it end, unsure of where her heart begins. Another lost romance, the story of the nice guy that never wins.