onehundredeightythree.

While some things begin to alight on telephone wires, I walk around kicking cigarette butts into empty driveways. His clothing used to fill up a portion in my closet, but now, that space is not for him. We were never two for the skies. Honey and promises, yes they seemed so decadent and lovely. I tried to fit my life into a movie scene but the final credits never did roll. For it was more or less just a poem dropping off into the water. Islands will now take it into their shores for the next set of eyes to draw their own conclusions. And him and I, we will still just be two memories floating around in someone else's head.

Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers, And laid entwined together on a bed of clover, And left there to sleep, Left there to dream of their happiness. But sometimes it just doesn't work out like that.