We'll get used to it, don't worry.At the station, as always, the sparks are flying off our faces -bleached by winter as summer once tanned. It seems agesago since you slipped a handful of cherries into my eagerly-lipped mouth.Those mysterious polaroid days, when both we still dared to doubteverything that cannot be erased. I'll have to make memories when you're sleeping too far awayfrom my nightmares and from me. Yet the glimpse of you will walk with me all dayand I will still wear my dresses for you,as always.
Manipulative.You are a finger-faced blind creature, your emotions stab me in the eye.Yet you are the sightless one who weeps with tears I ought to cry.You advertise what I despisewhich makes me wonder whyYou still inflict woundsthat play terrible tunesand make my mouth run dry.
What happened nextIt's been a over year since you sat there, with your eyes matching your shirta black watch around your wrist, your name the first two syllables I heardTogether they'd form a presently much-cherished word.If I had no reason to preserve this, then why do I recall it all?As my eyes tried to stretch out to every corner of the hallI'd never have guessed you were slowly starting to fallFor me, a girl with nine lives, all made of pencils and poetryit took a friend's broken anger to finally make me seeThat there might be a half-forgotten chance for me.The chance was short-lived and quickly ruined, and I never went to see your playI remember the rings around your fingers, but not the words I hoped you'd sayAnd the confusion over the conclusion: was that a date or merely a day?Then I turned around and flew away.For months the paths of our lives were winding and steep,so we paved them with Caffeine, Sugar and an Unhealthy Amount Of SleepBut since they never crossed at the right mom