in a song,
some moments can be captured for ever, for always,
and here is one of mine.
That was the last time I ever saw her, through a shop window, sleeves to her elbows.
I walked past and kept on walking, and lit a smoke with my hands shaking.
And she was something else.
A few summers ago we spent weeks in her room, just having sex and listening to jazz. And that was the life. I didn't know at the time.
I didn't know at the time.
She was something, she was something else.
Blinds drawn at twelve noon with daylight pouring through, projecting lines on her body.
Move on, move on, move on.
Smoke your smoke, and move on.
I should go back to see if she's still there, standing like a statue.
I guess before it was one of mine, it was someone else's. But it has become one of mine, because it is perfection, captured for always, to make me smile.I've been polishing my tiara, and now it's super shiny, which is awesome. Except I was polishing it on my t-shirt, which now has marks on it. I guess I didn't really expect it to work. All for a good cause, I suppose.
musical journey | the moon is so full it's setting the stars all on fire
