Our eyes have certainly met before, yet tonight, it’s as if I face him for the first time.
We hang around at the same old bar, in the same forgotten town, forgotten by God and its inhabitants, like those old and worn out relationships you hang to by habit. Our love has run out, when we ran out of fuels. We are now opponents, instead of partners, spending our time blaming each other.
Perhaps it’s the song that’s been playing while our lips collide; “love flies,” goes the verse and I imagine little insects, like kites flying through the roof, towards the sky, shaping hearts, which are blown away by the wind and then stubbornly get into shape again, resembling this old bar and my town and the old and worn out relationships and my life, sliding through my fingers, yet seemingly never-ending at the same time, until it’s over. The kites start spinning, confusing me, as my feet feel weaker and weaker.
Love is here. She wants to stay, but she can’t pay the rent.
His eyes are the first thing I see when I come round.
“One more drink,” I ask.
“We should go home.”
I return to the same old bar, the same town, the same old and worn out relationship. The love flies have vanished. The smoke dissolves the last heart dancing over my head. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead, while he helps me wear my coat. That old familiar comfort runs through my veins, pushing the liquor away.
“It’s cold outside,” he says, as he embraces me.
“Let’s start over,” I say.
“We always do,” he answers, staring at the void.
Love is here to stay; his smile is enough to refill the gas tank of our love.
We hang around at the same old bar, in the same forgotten town, forgotten by God and its inhabitants, like those old and worn out relationships you hang to by habit. Our love has run out, when we ran out of fuels. We are now opponents, instead of partners, spending our time blaming each other.
Perhaps it’s the song that’s been playing while our lips collide; “love flies,” goes the verse and I imagine little insects, like kites flying through the roof, towards the sky, shaping hearts, which are blown away by the wind and then stubbornly get into shape again, resembling this old bar and my town and the old and worn out relationships and my life, sliding through my fingers, yet seemingly never-ending at the same time, until it’s over. The kites start spinning, confusing me, as my feet feel weaker and weaker.
Love is here. She wants to stay, but she can’t pay the rent.
His eyes are the first thing I see when I come round.
“One more drink,” I ask.
“We should go home.”
I return to the same old bar, the same town, the same old and worn out relationship. The love flies have vanished. The smoke dissolves the last heart dancing over my head. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead, while he helps me wear my coat. That old familiar comfort runs through my veins, pushing the liquor away.
“It’s cold outside,” he says, as he embraces me.
“Let’s start over,” I say.
“We always do,” he answers, staring at the void.
Love is here to stay; his smile is enough to refill the gas tank of our love.
