*: “Do you remember anything from that night?”
**: “Of course I do.”
*: “What did I say? What happened? Jog my memory.”
**: “You told me the morning Will flew to New Orleans. It was 4AM. He was getting ready for his flight and he asked me why I was up and I told him that I had stayed up the entire night.”
*: “You were really mad at me that night, weren’t you?”
**: “Oh, fuck yeah.”
I record these things because it makes me wonder why things happen the way they do. And then sometimes I record these things because it makes me appreciate what I have now. And sometimes I record these things because they are now a figment of a dying memory. I sometimes close my eyes and try to replay memories in my mind, but each new day slowly eats up little fragments of events. Did these things really happen? How was I feeling?
And ultimately, how were you feeling?
Though the events of that night are slowly fading away into fuzzy details, I still clearly remember the way you bit your lips, the way you looked away when I left, and the part of me that was somehow still functioning, making the walk back home alone.
the lights are on, but you’re not home
your mind is not your own
your heart sweats, your body shakes
another kiss is all it takes
you can’t sleep, you can’t eat
there’s no doubt, you’re in deep
your throat is tight, you can’t breathe
another kiss is all you need
whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh yeah
its closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough,
you know you’re gonna have to face it,
you’re addicted to love