"Our story reminds me of the song Robbers by the 1975."
"How come?"
He took a step closer. Holding out a brown paper ripped on a page. There were letters written in crooked black.
Our Love,
Messy, but gold.
A glimpse
of Love and cold.
A story
has been unfold.
By a love
left untold.
Reality shot back at me as I hold out the paper. I'm alone now, sitting in the balcony under the dark night skies.
"Any feedbacks?" he stared at me for too long since I've read the words he wrote.
"Well, I'd say my favorite band now is the 1975."
