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Found myself alone in my bed. Her head wasn't next to mine. Coffee and oats for one was it bad and am I a waste of her time. She always said that it was fine. It wasn't her first it was mine. Don't think I'II see her again. Matchbox, The Hookups
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Once upon a time, boy found girl and he wished for her to be with him for the rest of his life.
And if she didn't want him, he wished she would perish with all the dogs who ate at him once ago. But no one was up to end her, so, he'd do it himself without realization.
He'd set her aflame.
She was perfect.
A soft, honeyed girl that belonged on the beach with sand in her smile lines and with buttered lips. She had such pretty tan skin for a town that was so cold with rarity of the sun. Her hair was the waves at the beach, her scent was (still) honey sunscreen and beach air.
She was everything in a place that shouldn't have been.
He watched and stalked and envied.
He cried about her when no one was looking. He wanted her so badly, but she wouldn't take him because he had another. He had the town's perfect ballerina, and he thought that's what he wanted. But no, he wanted a fallen ballerina who wasn't aware of her skill.
He prayed everyday that he would get up and leave. Leave town. Leave parents. Leave women. Leave kids. He never could. He was tied to a torturous town that had him by the neck.
He had to force himself not to care.
But she lived so close. Three houses down on a rounded street. He saw her all the time. He saw her when she was perfect, and when she was not.
And one day, that new born dog, appeared on his steps. She was so not perfect at all that day. She begged he'd never tell a soul. He swore on his burning heart he would never.
