Meet me halfway

Meet me halfway, please.
I'm not asking THAT much,
I'm just saying, would you mind telling me where we stand?
I was wondering maybe there was something I did, or something I say.
But I'm starting to think it's something I did not do, I did not say.
'Cause if not, I could never (ever) understand this,
not in a million years.
Arguing has no point at all,
'cause it lacks of logic.
All those days we were together, clearly, were an optical ilusion.
The naughtyness,
the filthyness,
the dizziness,
the discretion,
the shyness,
the guiltyness,
the speculation,
the willingness,
the mysteriousness,
the gladness,
and the spotlessness
of flirting.
We did an amazing job. We sure did.
Five shitty years filled the fuck up with the most amazing and unpredictable flirtation of all.
Five years of nothing, personified as one, as itself. As US.
Five years of as good as it gets,
as far as we went,
as relaxed as we were,
as spected as it could be,
as messy as it was.
How good my body felt against yours,
how syncronized we were both
how clumsy I was when you got nearer and nearer and nearer.
How did it feel when they talked about you;
and it was our secret.
And all those hopes we built,
all those bridges we destroyed,
all those fears we surrended to
and all of those who fought against us.
All those things we gave up,
all those things we managed to keep,
all those affairs we handled well,
and all of those times we missed the mark.
You knew I could tell with just looking through the corner of my eye
that whenever you saw me, you could not hide.
Where has it all gone?
Flushed down the toilet I guess
Better to assume it was that way,
or at least it's easier.
Then, neither one of us would be to blame.
Supposing we'd done things diffrently,
were would that have let us?
Me in?
Skipping the rough times
that would have made you out..
(Damn you and your fuckin' shell!)
Hypotetically speaking: we'd chosen different paths.
But we didn't,
and it wasn't.
That's why I'm so self-conscious.
That's why I still not quite get it.
And that's mainly the reason I'm so mad.
'Cause now everything is blury,
things on which I once counted on had dissapeared,
out of the blue we are no longer talking,
when I need to find you I don't even know were to start looking.
And even if I reach something important, I'm afraid I can not touch you.
Not any longer, not today at least.
I feel uncomfortable whenever I'm around you.
There's a thick wall
a cold, thick wall.
So thick I can touch it from time to time.
So thick I can not reach you, though I never try.
So this is me, trying:
meet me halfway, please.