the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return
My Dear we're slow dancing in a burning room
Saturday, October 3, 2009, 9:46 PM
We met by the moon on the silvery lake
We locked the door of the room, trapping our airs of butterflies in our stomachs inside. Stepping past the threshold, we skip down the narrow corridor of our secret study area, singing and dancing like we just stepped out from a broadway musical. Our tired feet slosh across the wet tiles of the stairs and cross the bridge, bringing us back to normality. it's as if we're leaving our own fantasy land behind. The grey sky loomed overhead and blew down a wave of air that ruffled our mops of hair, limp and lifeless after hours of pulling at it, as if any of that would make the economy easier to understand. Like rats in a maze, we weave through the veins of our second home, going place to place doing whatever we have to before we finally walk the sheltered pavement out through the blue hued gates. Our usual chatter echoes across the distant path, we say what we can to dissolve the apparent load of nonsense that's being strapped to our backs. It helps. We board the bus, packed worse than an over-eager sardine can as we head to our usual evening haunt. Single heavy drops of rain parachuted from the sky and collided with the ground; their eternal kiss. We trudge down the little slopes and look around at the village, yellow stained haired people wandered around, cosy couples careened against each other, hands held tight on this cold night. The bright neon lights of advertising brilliance glower at us from above as we stroll into a humble food place. We find seats, buy food and eat. We smile, we talk, we laugh, we make comfortable conversations as we have been doing every day for the past 9 months. Enough time for an infant to burst free from its blanket of birth. With each word, our souls seem to be drawn closer together, until all of us, again, seem to exist as one single being, unable to imagine life without us. I can't remember life before your name. We push aside our empty plates and head out, back to the moist gravel. The crunch in our step sounds comforting. The loom of a distant car shines its light at us and we dash across the small road. As if it was traveling fast enough to make minced meat out of our anatomies. We step into a small bakery and pick up buns baked in heaven, kissed by angels then sent down here by clouds of love. A small Japanese baker looks up from his broom and smiles at us, his weathered face seemed to hide the secrets to the pure deliciousness of the place. 8:30. We should get going guys, head home and rest.
So we hug and say goodbye, part ways at least for the next couple of hours. So it's just you and I. We stand by the lamp post and wait for our ride home. My turn today, since your mom's busy. Whatever conversation we seemed to be having cut short as my car arrives and we hop in. We both drift off to sleep in different tunes, your Lady Gaga and my John Mayer. We reach your house and you open the door and jump out, your smile seems to radiate a thousand happy thoughts. Goodbye, and good night. But, we never actually say goodbye.
the machiavellian ist
Vanity isn't a sin, a little narcissm wouldn't hurt.
The World would be a much lesser place without corndogs and pizzas.
Facebook Andrew. Music. Food. People. What more could you possibly want?
partnersincrime
One day when i wake up and find the motive and time to link anybody, i'll let you know.