cornerstore.
hey, are you still up?
can we talk for a little while?
i hope you haven't fallen asleep yet,
because i'm still here
waiting for you to stay a little longer.
open your door,
open your windows,
let my cold breath break these walls of silence
that have kept us apart for what feels like centuries.
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all i've ever dreamed of, all i've ever wanted
was to wake up on the right side of your bed.
because in the dead of night,
with you by my side,
your arms feel like my favorite place to hide.
we could share the same blanket,
or you could keep it all if you feel cold.
i'll cook you my terrible scrambled eggs,
complain that it's too salty,
we'll still eat it carelessly in bed
while music leaks softly through the room,
cleaning those crumbs off of the sheets
before morning forces me to leave again.
and before one of us
takes the train ride home,
let's promise to do this again.
meet me at the same cornerstore
at the same impossible hour,
sit shoulder to shoulder,
our laughs slowly become one sound.
tell me that same dumb stories,
laugh about it
even though it stopped being funny hours ago.
let's get drunk enough
to mistake this for forever,
before we realize
that we've turned each other into a habit.
hey, let me take you out
on a lazy sunday afternoon
while the city moves slowly around us.
waste the entire day together
doing things that we’ll probably forget by next week,
except the feeling of it.
i’ll let the sunlight fall on your face,
point my camera at you,
saying that "the light just looked good on you"
pretending that you’re only a part of the scenery.
but honestly, it’s just an excuse
to keep looking at you,
just proof that you were here with me.
you’ll smile at the lens for a second
even though i’ll end up smiling for you.
and when the sun has set,
i know one of us will have to leave first,
standing near the station with our song deafening the announcement,
knowing that it's not what we've been wanting.
you'll ask me "when are we going to meet again?"
and i'll probably say "soon"
even if neither of us knows what that means anymore.
and if these moments ever fade like film in the sunlight,
i still hope somewhere in this city
there remains a cornerstore
that we'll revisit whenever the city gets quiet again.
