They'll say it was weak.
When I try to put the story together it sounds cheap and ugly but when I close my eyes I still see the glowing arch of our last goodbye.
The stupid cheesed up love story that never even was.
A flame?
Hot like fire?
Lit like a candle?
Standing as tall as a mountain
Sinking like a rock.
Damn, see... It comes out all wrong.
A buzz, a metallic taste on my tongue, a firm, strong hand pushing.
That's all that's left of it anymore.
There are these tiny love stories that happen.
They might not even be real.
The more you remember the less real it becomes.
Sometimes you just have to let it wash over you and suck back into the sea.
You can't ever find that grain of sand again, even if it's made of everything inside you.
