lets go to sleep in paris.

wake up in tokyo, have a dream in new orleans, fall in love in chicago.

It happens early in the morning and 5:15 , and at the end of long days, and all those sleepless nights. and there are these small things i remember like how to how old hands, and how to feel, or look, and how to make the best of it, or how to love and it kills me. i was wrong though, you've always managed to make me the happiest. and despite her love for him she's going to look at pictures of you two together and think about how much she'd wished it would have lasted, and she will look at newer pictures of you together and think about how it's going to. and I will look at pictures of you together and hope with all I have that it doesn't. and i will wish that it was me with you, and me that you watch walk away, but it will still be her. and all these new friends I have won't understand any of this, and they will think i'm okay and it'll be easier to fake it. and all the old ones won't know who i am anymore, and I will meet someone with the same last name and tell him all my old stories and he will know who you are but not care about the rest, but we wont' kiss, and i won't know his hands better than my own, and I will eventually forget everything he's ever said to me. and he won't be you, and i guess you might be it.

the one who got away, and I will live, breathe, settle, and learn to be happy with it.

i can't seem to write anymore, and the only words I have are the ones that don't mean anything to anyone, anywhere