1 part hyperbole, 2 parts truth

My face tear-stained, emotionless, my voice a crystal rasp, and sometimes what it is I want is not the same as what is in my grasp, so I keep saying to myself that I don't care for her at all, but all the while I'm still sitting here, just inches from the fall, and talking myself down with sensible yet so transparent lies, back from the risk of tumbling down again. I've had too many tries at love for one more wasted effort on an obvious mistake, but if you've been there then you know that it just isn't quite so easy to convince yourself of something which your self is well aware could lead to just another heartache, if you think that on the way there might be happiness in store for you, a taste you can't forget, but which you haven't had a drop of since you can't remember when it was she last gave you a smile that you knew meant she was yours, and then the one you gave returned the sentiment. I just can't help myself. Sometimes I wish convincing me was easy. Oh, but then I'd never let myself do anything I wasn't sure of when I started out, and all the best of all the journeys I've been on have been so littered with uncertainty, inspiring words and songs and all the best of me comes out when I'm not sure of where to go. Will this step make the sun shine brighter, or will this one bring the snow? It doesn't matter at the time. I simply follow where my feet would like to go. But this time I've a clear emphatic no. But have I ever listened to myself before?