To live in a world meant for other people
To live in a world meant for other people
He hands me his glass. I get up and make two drinks. He walks out onto the balcony, past my guitar. He doesn’t know that I write songs about him, that I play them when I am alone at night, drunk and thinking about him. Usually just after I leave the bar, after spending hours with him. I watch as he looks out over the grass and the orange-like tree. He is in his white shirt. He is beautiful. So is the...
He hands me his glass. I get up and make two drinks. He walks out onto the balcony, past my guitar. He doesn’t know that I write songs about him, that I play them when I am alone at night, drunk and thinking about him. Usually just after I leave the bar, after spending hours with him. I watch as he looks out over the grass and the orange-like tree. He is in his white shirt. He is beautiful. So is the...
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