we never made it to mexico, vegas, or even up to maine that much. we never really made it anywhere. never gave you a wedding, or a real photoshoot. but tonight you fucked me, worried if you fucked me good enough to not catch wanderlust.

we never made it, babe, and we never will.

lying in bed, on top of the blankets, bathed in purple blinding light, thinking, for every couple staring out the window at the dumb, stupid paris lights, there’s another couple fighting in some bedroom, just like this, never having made it, unsure if life ever began or if it will ever find end.

-

the cars and streets move in silence, and some of the buildings look like dreams from long ago — a dream city. roku city, and here i am again, soaked in cheap whiskey, unable to sleep, staring at the dumb, stupid lights. burning. burning alive.

then, the dreams again.