Lights, no camera, action; here we are, in the bathroom of a basement bar, with writings on the stall doors. Turns out, these walls have ears, and they talk too.
It all started over some whiskey. We caught a vibe and talked about our broken dreams. You were the only one I was curious about.
You were the only man ballsy enough to approach the gorgeous girl with “fuck you” written all over her face. You knew. You knew she was the sweetest one. She tried to conceal it, but you could tell when you saw her smile. Though her expression was strange, you recognized her beauty and shot your shot.
Now that we’re here, let’s act like we were led by purpose, other than the booze, and the possibility of meeting one another, at this hole in the wall in New York City, or Los Angeles. Shit, I forget where we were. I’ve had enough.
The odds were in our favor, I guess. We acted impulsively. You offered foreign substances that I denied. Thank God. I’m a good girl, with a flare for mischief that comes with the night; always looking for someone who will keep me crazy and sane at the same time. You tried me.
If it were up to you, you’d keep me crazy. That’s what you liked about me; my look and mysterious energy. To you, my calm was a promise of chaos. Let’s reflect on that moment and the vibes that brought us together.
What if we never crossed paths? We would have never experienced something that will live forever, in our hearts. We graced a page in each others’ story. We loved for a moment in time and it led us down a spiraling path of lust, pain, and hope, hope that one day we may discover what it all meant.
We may never know. As we pass the transients on populous streets, the reality that we may never encounter one another ever again sets in, and we bury it. We bury the feelings and thoughts until the light turns green, or until the train stops and we get off, wondering will we ever meet another one another.
Denim & Lipstick 