It was the summer of your Gemini wedding. You told me you didn't want to live in your body. Begged me to thank everyone for coming -- grab their gifts and go. The world finally resumed spinning and you tried to peek over the edge. Begged me to let you down easy before the vertigo kicked in. Spent our Easter at the Mall of America. Still not sure why we try. Wanted to ride out all my mania before I left. The coaster car was climbing. I hung my head over the edge. If the fall would go down easy then I could picture sinking in. Wish I could live my life until I got it right. I always swear I'll change, and then I act surprised. I'll probably sort myself out when I'm out of time.