stage check.
You apologize to the man you call your lover, for once again you're not in love. Nothing you have is truly yours because no matter how you hide from your sickness you always end up throwing all you held on to away. It's not as if you really mind that his heart is breaking at the thought of you leaving, but you don't know any other way to land that plane, and God knows you're not going to try to find a way to fly it around forever. No, you've run out of gas, and crashing is the only option. You walk down the street and see a beautiful woman and the first thing you think to yourself is that there is a man out there who is sick of fucking her. That will never happen to you though, you don't ever call a place home or stay long enough to even brush your teeth. It's not that you can't hold on to something extraordinary, it's that you actually don't believe in extraordinary, or maybe you can't open your eyes wide enough to see the flashing lights that are consistently blinking "what you've been looking for". Lost is a relative term. You can't feel lost if lost is all you know. You're sure if you're ever "found", then that's exact moment you feel "lost".
He blocks the doorway in some attempt to make the light shine down on you, the camera to zoom in, and you realize that you actually do love him. But, there is no light, you shove your last box of shoes through the cracks in his arms, and push your way out. If it makes you nostalgic and sad to leave you suppose it's better than being disgusted with someone other than yourself. You tell him as you walk away, that you fly on a private jet, alone, reserved, and stalling at the thought of some new scenery. He doesn't understand, but then again, you know that you're the only one that ever will.
Destination,
He blocks the doorway in some attempt to make the light shine down on you, the camera to zoom in, and you realize that you actually do love him. But, there is no light, you shove your last box of shoes through the cracks in his arms, and push your way out. If it makes you nostalgic and sad to leave you suppose it's better than being disgusted with someone other than yourself. You tell him as you walk away, that you fly on a private jet, alone, reserved, and stalling at the thought of some new scenery. He doesn't understand, but then again, you know that you're the only one that ever will.
Destination,