This morning you walked me back home and I was hesitant to let you go.
It was 6 a.m. and we garnered curious looks from the neighbours.
I know what they were thinking, 'there goes the sad girl again, but who's the new guy'?
Who's the new guy, indeed?
The Universe works in mysterious ways.
Or maybe not.
Maybe all this chaos has some hidden pattern to it.
Maybe not.
Last Friday, I would have done anything to never breathe another minute in this city.
Now, I see the irony of a love evolving out of borrowed time.
Maybe the Greeks did get it right, the gods do have a wicked sense of humour.
And now, you tell me, there is nothing that can be done, except live in the moment.
But I close my eyes and the moment slips away.
I open them and realise- some people are destined to meet at a goodbye kiss.
I don't feel that I learn something new about you from our conversations.
Rather, it feels like I'm remembering something again-
something ancient and elusive, I can't quite put my finger on it.
I try to tear this feeling away, running my hands across my face and knees, but it remains indifferent to me, burrowing in the dark hollow of my collarbone and clinging to the bits of your skin under my fingernails.
I don't want it. Not another broken heart. Not now. Please. Not now.
Yet, there are some needs that bleed freely, invisible to the naked eye.
And when you find someone who figures out the unsaid parts of your sentences, who touches you first with his mind, then you roll up your sleeves and resolve yourself for the imminent heartbreak that is to come.
A slow-motion car crash that you cannot get out of.
It was 6 a.m. and we garnered curious looks from the neighbours.
I know what they were thinking, 'there goes the sad girl again, but who's the new guy'?
Who's the new guy, indeed?
The Universe works in mysterious ways.
Or maybe not.
Maybe all this chaos has some hidden pattern to it.
Maybe not.
Last Friday, I would have done anything to never breathe another minute in this city.
Now, I see the irony of a love evolving out of borrowed time.
Maybe the Greeks did get it right, the gods do have a wicked sense of humour.
And now, you tell me, there is nothing that can be done, except live in the moment.
But I close my eyes and the moment slips away.
I open them and realise- some people are destined to meet at a goodbye kiss.
I don't feel that I learn something new about you from our conversations.
Rather, it feels like I'm remembering something again-
something ancient and elusive, I can't quite put my finger on it.
I try to tear this feeling away, running my hands across my face and knees, but it remains indifferent to me, burrowing in the dark hollow of my collarbone and clinging to the bits of your skin under my fingernails.
I don't want it. Not another broken heart. Not now. Please. Not now.
Yet, there are some needs that bleed freely, invisible to the naked eye.
And when you find someone who figures out the unsaid parts of your sentences, who touches you first with his mind, then you roll up your sleeves and resolve yourself for the imminent heartbreak that is to come.
A slow-motion car crash that you cannot get out of.
