(no subject)
The sky is much greyer in this story. Years ago, before Miranda ever took to the bottle, she was an aspiring musician. Her chords were always in perfect key, and people from all around would come to hear the girl with hair in half moons sing. They would sing along and succumb into her rhythms with manic dance. One day Jessica grew lost within this dance, within the depths of that radio, and never returned. The other girl in question, Lana, never existed.
An airplane ascends into the sky. It is unknown if Miranda is on this plane, but nonetheless, we lay on your patio watching it go by. Who is on the plane doesn't matter; as long as we keep spitting guesses, we can avert the topic at hand. You say the plane looks like it is higher than the stars. It is noted that Miranda always wanted to rise above the stars.
Meanwhile at a lonely airport, a man sits in the desolate lobby trying to keep himself awake with shoe taps and echoed whistles unheard. With only his reflection in the window to keep him company, he begins to think of Miranda's soft lips, the taste of her breath devoid of alcohol. The man smiles.
And a plane descends.
The man, who'll we'll now call Drake to avoid redundancy, smiles harder. He doesn't care that his face now looks like it's about to fall off. The empty lobby is no longer empty. Drake swims through the sea of people, trying to find Miranda. After a few minutes, Drake grows frantic and begins seeking more desperately, a look of worry becoming notable on his face. Then it dawns on him: Miranda was not on the plane. But she said she would be.
Drake falls to his knees, breaks down, and cries.
In the back alley of some unknown city, a woman with messy hair in half moons stands alone. Her sagging eyes gaze down at the bottle in her hand. She recalls the trouble she went through getting it. A small sigh of relief exits her chapped lips as she smiles and pops open the cap. She sips and feels the familiar, comforting tingle in her throat. Alas, I have found you again. It was never him, always you.
An airplane ascends into the sky. It is unknown if Miranda is on this plane, but nonetheless, we lay on your patio watching it go by. Who is on the plane doesn't matter; as long as we keep spitting guesses, we can avert the topic at hand. You say the plane looks like it is higher than the stars. It is noted that Miranda always wanted to rise above the stars.
Meanwhile at a lonely airport, a man sits in the desolate lobby trying to keep himself awake with shoe taps and echoed whistles unheard. With only his reflection in the window to keep him company, he begins to think of Miranda's soft lips, the taste of her breath devoid of alcohol. The man smiles.
And a plane descends.
The man, who'll we'll now call Drake to avoid redundancy, smiles harder. He doesn't care that his face now looks like it's about to fall off. The empty lobby is no longer empty. Drake swims through the sea of people, trying to find Miranda. After a few minutes, Drake grows frantic and begins seeking more desperately, a look of worry becoming notable on his face. Then it dawns on him: Miranda was not on the plane. But she said she would be.
Drake falls to his knees, breaks down, and cries.
In the back alley of some unknown city, a woman with messy hair in half moons stands alone. Her sagging eyes gaze down at the bottle in her hand. She recalls the trouble she went through getting it. A small sigh of relief exits her chapped lips as she smiles and pops open the cap. She sips and feels the familiar, comforting tingle in her throat. Alas, I have found you again. It was never him, always you.