What are you looking at?” she asks. What am I looking at? My future wife? The mother of my children? The person I was put on this earth to find? Yes.

First he threw out all of his records, trashed his heart and then he went to sleep.

I’m not just taking trips down memory lane; I’m broken down on it.

My body is a metronome, keeping time for the universe.

Here is The Boy with the Thorn in His Side, dying in your world. A man made monster with every human emotion, overdosed on worthlessness in a world that could never wrap it’s head around him (so don’t even try). When it’s all over just remember every single word you ever said was always just a bullet to his head. Bury him underground between friends and love - the only things that are gonna make it to the end with him. Look for his body buried beneath where the yellow weeds are growing and know he’s still living in his nightmares.

He hugged her tight, mixing their tears to be bottled and fermented, so they could be drunk on each other when this was all over.

But our love isn’t easy because it’s not meant to be. It requires work and sacrifice and protection. And I wouldn’t want it any other way, not right now, with the morning sun making the curtains glow and Her arms around my neck and the sounds of the street so far away. I’m in it for the long haul, I’m not going away.