And then I find myself, a few years from now, passing by you, randomly, on
the street, and, as if no train had passed by us, we’ll talk.
We’ll talk and we’ll laugh and we’ll remember how happy we were with each
other.
We'll speak like we haven't ever stopped, like we know how much we melted
in the words we couldn't quite figure out how to say: why did things turned
out the way they did, how we didn't stick together because we were too afraid
to face the fact that I was your breath and you were my lungs.
We'll talk about our life, my kids and your wife, knowing for sure that those
could be your kids, that you could be my husband.
We'll smile, and we'll both wonder, quietly and silently, in turns, in the
secrecy of our own heads, why the hell did we split.
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