(no subject)
Prom night and Christmastime ruined two boys who felt they could do better who too young and too inexperienced fell ill who were understandably scared away who one day came back and another day came back and who kept coming back and coming back and who eventually fell in (dammit) in love.
Spoken like a true cocktease from the girl sitting with the group of smokers at the back of the party, “Don’t be shocked when you see cigarettes hanging from my still-small lips. Don’t be shocked when I ash the motherfuckers on your shoes.” But sober she declines because of frown lines and grey eyes, and sober she declines because of you.
Southern gentlemen sleep 2 hours later and duck into your too-short, made-for-ladies shower and use the same bath towel that you just did. But it’s not of drama or double entendre or metaphor, it’s of practicality. And sometimes practicality breeds stronger and prettier and more worthy love than before.
(our clichés used to be “I feel infinite!” and solidifying teenage love by fucking real quiet in mom and dad’s basement. Now we’re doing coke in New York City bathrooms and ordering takeout to soak up last night, but feeling cliché all the same.)
On prom night, at Christmastime, it was easy to know who you were. But after evenings of sighing in movie theatres and nights of “just take me home”s and midnights of begging, “get out of my car!” after that it gets hard to pinpoint the girl.
After that it gets hard to pinpoint the girl.
Spoken like a true cocktease from the girl sitting with the group of smokers at the back of the party, “Don’t be shocked when you see cigarettes hanging from my still-small lips. Don’t be shocked when I ash the motherfuckers on your shoes.” But sober she declines because of frown lines and grey eyes, and sober she declines because of you.
Southern gentlemen sleep 2 hours later and duck into your too-short, made-for-ladies shower and use the same bath towel that you just did. But it’s not of drama or double entendre or metaphor, it’s of practicality. And sometimes practicality breeds stronger and prettier and more worthy love than before.
(our clichés used to be “I feel infinite!” and solidifying teenage love by fucking real quiet in mom and dad’s basement. Now we’re doing coke in New York City bathrooms and ordering takeout to soak up last night, but feeling cliché all the same.)
On prom night, at Christmastime, it was easy to know who you were. But after evenings of sighing in movie theatres and nights of “just take me home”s and midnights of begging, “get out of my car!” after that it gets hard to pinpoint the girl.
After that it gets hard to pinpoint the girl.