One day he woke up. And everything they had was gone. Torn to shreds, burned to crisp, and the notes were left to dust in the bookcase.
No one looks at the bookcase anymore.
This honesty, this cheer, this fucking laughter, is nothing but a hoax. Things would have gone a little farther if you weren't so dramatic. The description that blonds have more fun, well that's damn straight. Fuck that. Months have passed, days are coming, and the story is still unwritten.
I loved that sky, you know that. But there was never a kept rhythm with it. It was either raining, or bright in the eyes. Like a damn roller coaster. I've never been on a roller coaster and I sure as hell don't want to now.
It's getting harder each day to look the sun in the eyes.
Dearest darling, whoever is closest to hearing. What are we going to do with ourselves now?
So, you've done your pouting, and I've done my crying and they've all struck us with lightening. I'd rather stick around in the rain than run towards shelter. I'm not afraid. I'm just tucking words behind my ears so only I can hear them.
Are we happy, or are we lonesome?