Oh, there's a girl at the top of the stairs.
Sometimes, alright. The air will be just so, and my heart will drift far back to a place it has been before and I can almost taste everything in full, except it is cotton candy and melts away fast. I do not want to long anymore. I want to accept bananas as good forms of sugar and you the same. Does this make sense? If there was ever an issue, it has always been human form. I will drive and each song can fill my eyes with past tense and if the bridge is between backward and forward then I will wait before crossing and maybe, this is the truth, this is the last letter I can send if I do, and the presence I had gotten from that spot in the room 23 minutes ago is not coincidental because it was your ghost turning on lamps in my heart in my throat throb throbbing beating compensating for gold and silver how many could have sold how many have sold how many girls have cried how many souls were sealed in glass jars in the basement next to leather couches or rope. I will wait before crossing because summer cannot change like fireflies cannot burn out if they are still burning and that is just it: I cannot burn out because I am still, I am still, I am still burning for you turning inside out take this lightly, I am throwing it up and pushing it off because i'm holding my breath for fourteenth chances and a spot on the dance floor maybe even doing what I do good and not swimming in redundancy but getting on just enough to hold back. Then, just like the movies, one day: "Give me your address. This time, I'm coming to you." I am sorry I wear sunglasses, sometimes it just hurts so much and you're shining so bright my head starts to explode like we both did as you became part of racks and television and rock. And tonight, I am not sorry you are finally happy, but only if you are finally happy.