our book. random entry.
our book. random excerpt. ps. a mixtape is going to be put with it.
“How will we fine each other, how will I know in twenty…a million years that it is you?”
“I will have a mermaid on my wrist, and you... a pirate.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
As they made there last secure promise, the sun rose and turned the world back to their own. Inside doubt played its ugly face and infected the dreams of young souls.
Their minds talked the same random fragments. Why do late nights mean so much. Why does dawn contaminate everything and shatter the remnants of the night before…ruining memories, thoughts, ideas, genius breakthroughs, breakdowns, love-making, love-breaking, kisses, fights, miracles, fantasies, admissions…all fucking forgotten. It pulls them apart, pulls them, viscously. Rotten and selfish teeth tearing piece by piece into small insignificant thoughts that are easily just blown away by the wind. The wind just sweeps them away into an oblivion of highway litter. Thoughts are litter. Thoughts change when dawn comes, when substances subside, when the moon is gone. During the night, thoughts dwindle above the minds of the crazy, the coked out, the drunks, the sluts, the weirdoes, the hippies, the materialistic, the philosophers, the poets, the lovers, the best people of the fucking world. They sit there and hover, teasing young minds into believing that love is just around the bend. The fucking bend. Who came up with that lame ass phrase, that obviously came to me before dawn broke.
She thought though, and in a split second she knew the truth. Our dreams will never leave. Even when dawn comes. Even when most dreams are swept away into the California light...ours will be still weighted by true passion.
I wished we had kissed in front of that bus stop.
“How will we fine each other, how will I know in twenty…a million years that it is you?”
“I will have a mermaid on my wrist, and you... a pirate.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
As they made there last secure promise, the sun rose and turned the world back to their own. Inside doubt played its ugly face and infected the dreams of young souls.
Their minds talked the same random fragments. Why do late nights mean so much. Why does dawn contaminate everything and shatter the remnants of the night before…ruining memories, thoughts, ideas, genius breakthroughs, breakdowns, love-making, love-breaking, kisses, fights, miracles, fantasies, admissions…all fucking forgotten. It pulls them apart, pulls them, viscously. Rotten and selfish teeth tearing piece by piece into small insignificant thoughts that are easily just blown away by the wind. The wind just sweeps them away into an oblivion of highway litter. Thoughts are litter. Thoughts change when dawn comes, when substances subside, when the moon is gone. During the night, thoughts dwindle above the minds of the crazy, the coked out, the drunks, the sluts, the weirdoes, the hippies, the materialistic, the philosophers, the poets, the lovers, the best people of the fucking world. They sit there and hover, teasing young minds into believing that love is just around the bend. The fucking bend. Who came up with that lame ass phrase, that obviously came to me before dawn broke.
She thought though, and in a split second she knew the truth. Our dreams will never leave. Even when dawn comes. Even when most dreams are swept away into the California light...ours will be still weighted by true passion.
I wished we had kissed in front of that bus stop.