Twenty two and I'm fucked.

I almost love this city when I'm by your side: we admire the view from the fourth story window tonight, although these city lights are inadequate and unable to fully illuminate the locations and experiences that you have had memorised. I stretch my south side of the river imagination trying to visualize the sights you recall so fluid from a mind that grew up on the north side of the very same water. You recall a city as beautiful as the vision of majesty that I uphold, the kind I believe we really need in this city but are unable to possess. After all our childhood dreams deteriorated and the promises never kept faded from the minds of the friends that were lost along the way, we fled the nest. I guess this is growing up: restless and flightless tonight, in the world at large, I quit trying to recall the rule appropriate to process our potential and step back from a window with it's panoramic view to admire you...our potential is a figment of my imagination perhaps...my mistakes could have moved mountains in the past.

Start breaking my heart, I mean the part that wasn't broken in this city already.

I keep a sinking ship between these boney ribs.

..honestly I don't care how you do or don't dress, let's skip the landscape of your hair, a beauty truly inherent...you're beautiful on the inside, I suppose, without the face paint or expensive cologne that you stole from your ex boyfriend: exclaiming, can you forget about the past; well, little darlin', I can if you can. Amen.
..so, let your hair down tonight, like it's the end of the world. I'll put that book down tonight about the end of the world and the spinning top of a world will still twist on it's axis for us even after the record skips and falters. It spins well beyond the rooms we frequent. Alike the ceiling above our heads, it spins, at the end of a long night. Amen.