Someone special sent this to me..
I spoke to a woman I used to love today, in a cafe in the desert. She's a waitress there, a long time ago.
"I thought I was your destination," she told me. "Looks like I was just another stop on the line."
I couldn't say anything to make it better. She couldn't hear me. I should have asked if she knew where Finn was.
"When you die," says a dark-haired woman at the next table, "they can make you into diamonds now. It's scientific. That's how I want to be remembered. I want to shine."
I think the world will end in black and white, like an old movie. (Hair as black as coal, sugar, skin as white as snow.) Maybe as long as we have colours we can keep going. (Lips as red as blood, I keep reminding myself.)
She spoke to me last night. I'm certain it was her. passed a payphone on the street in Annandale, Sydney. It rang, I picked up the headset.
"Are you okay?" said a voice.
"Who is this?" I asked. "Maybe you have the wrong number."
"Maybe I do," she said. "But are you okay?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Know that you are loved," she said. And I knew that it had to be her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her too, but by then she'd already put down the phone. If it was her. She was only there for a moment. Maybe it was a wrong number, but I don't think so.
I'm so close now. I buy a postcard from a homeless guy on the sidewalk with a blanket of stuff, and I write REMEMBER on it, in lipstick, so now I won't ever forget, but the wind comes up and carries it away, and just for now I guess I'm going to keep on walking.
"I thought I was your destination," she told me. "Looks like I was just another stop on the line."
I couldn't say anything to make it better. She couldn't hear me. I should have asked if she knew where Finn was.
"When you die," says a dark-haired woman at the next table, "they can make you into diamonds now. It's scientific. That's how I want to be remembered. I want to shine."
I think the world will end in black and white, like an old movie. (Hair as black as coal, sugar, skin as white as snow.) Maybe as long as we have colours we can keep going. (Lips as red as blood, I keep reminding myself.)
She spoke to me last night. I'm certain it was her. passed a payphone on the street in Annandale, Sydney. It rang, I picked up the headset.
"Are you okay?" said a voice.
"Who is this?" I asked. "Maybe you have the wrong number."
"Maybe I do," she said. "But are you okay?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Know that you are loved," she said. And I knew that it had to be her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her too, but by then she'd already put down the phone. If it was her. She was only there for a moment. Maybe it was a wrong number, but I don't think so.
I'm so close now. I buy a postcard from a homeless guy on the sidewalk with a blanket of stuff, and I write REMEMBER on it, in lipstick, so now I won't ever forget, but the wind comes up and carries it away, and just for now I guess I'm going to keep on walking.