I'm quietly ranting in the back seat of a long dark car.
Watching everything move past. Biting my nails. Biding my time. Counting stop signs and tracing tally marks on my thigh.
We were all the rage. Kids who's home was "wherever I am with you" and traveling to "the moon and back" on a regular basis. Kissing eyes, and tracing the lines on your palms. Seeing if I was in your future.
"I just want to sleep all day until my body is back on track and until it's raining champagne."
I'm quietly counting down in the back of a big blue bus.
"Hey little Skye, you've got all these stars in your eyes, but your mouth is always so crooked."
We were what dreams were made of. Sugar and spice and quiet white lies and deceptions that came after business hours ended.
So the boys come in and the boys go out.
And all the whiskey in the all the world could not cure these symptoms tonight.
Because blocked phone numbers are only reminders that in order to take two steps backward I have to beg for passwords through gin laced lips. "I swear, it's mut...mut...mutual. Please?"
Take 10 deep breaths and look in the mirror:
"I am the bravest girl I know. I am the bravest girl I know.
I am worth it. I am smart. I am better than this. I am better than him.
1. 2. 3. 4."
If the heat wave has me convinced of anything, it's that the best natural disasters are caused by broken hearts.
So when West Coast and East Coast come together again, might I suggest you bolt the doors and board your windows. Because when the mighty fall, oh baby, they fall hard.
Don't you remember how we used to split a drink?
It never mattered what it was.
I think our heads were just that close.
The sweetness never lasts, you know.
Hey, I've got the scars to prove I actually showed up. Do you?