I'm not, actually a fan of'em. Really, because I suck at writing those... But here it goes:
I don't know what to get from this. At times it seems that you're the only one that can make a highly dysfunctional character like me play his part. It doesn't have to be like this but it is.
Here you are jumping into strange cars, going to distant places and falling in love with whoever tells you a little story. But you haven't heard my story yet. Mainly because I don't want to seem weird- (although I am).
Sometimes I wonder, whether you feel the distant gaze of my mind's eye, hoping to get a glimpse at the perfect reality you're in. I'm not an intruder. Or maybe I am, but there's something vague in my lifestyle that preoccupies me and that is the absence of you.
My story is about you. It's always been about you. Even though I would entitle it: "Us" ( cause it sounds better that way ).
The story starts and ends in a scene. I don't know if it's perfect or dreadful, but just imagining it makes me happy. We're standing on this bench, and the sun is preparing to rise. A strange and lustful town around us and in front of our eyes there is a slope going to a forest. We're talking about nonsense, I make you laugh and suddenly everything inflates in the sheer beauty of the morning sun, the last thing I see is your smile and then there is light. All you did was smile and it shook the earth for me.
A happy-end, a begging and a content all in that prophetic moment. Kinda' makes me wonder, kinda' makes me care...
For what's worth, I still remember the blunt details, like the day after and the foolish steps.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck in this place from the past, and I can't shake off the nostalgia, that's slowly building up around me like a veil. I can't cleanse myself of it as long as I don't save you from this bad world.
Not a big fan of love letters...So I'll never mail this to you. But if you could reach out to the stars, on a night in June and send them your smile, don't think I won't notice because, it would turn my night into day.
