It’s become increasingly more obvious that while I barely cracked the book this chapter is over.
Let’s go back to dancing wildly, where touch meant nothing and our movements spoke to beats alone. If we could go back, let’s go, let’s rush to our old cynicism and nights of Mexican beer. While I continue to daydream on you everything else points back, go back to the wondrous friendship and forget what the heavy drinks and buzzing signs felt like as we tumbled down into that mutual space of desire.
And now I will try with all my might to let it be what it never was a, just a friendship, for that is all it can be as we turn the page to start a new paragraph and old reconnaissance.