You’re adored by some millions.
You have the world at your feet.
You command and demand for the best wine from the best harvest from the best place in Europe, but you choose to order the cheapest one from Chile.
You have the most delicate blue eyes but still you can’t look into them running into a mirror accidentally at your home. You look around but you don’t feel like home.
You start a joke but forget how it ends so you just figure you must shut up and listen to your head. You mind your own business while your heart gets squeezed by your one million albums sold, thrown around like some plastic precious junk.
You know all of this ain’t just right.
Cause the one thing that’s missing got left when you entered that car.
The one thing that could shift your gear was left by herself to pretend that she could really support the artist within you.
You’re indeed adored by millions.
You sit and you ask for a beer.
Your eyes again are ashamed.
You pretend to pretend to want something, anything to come out of the blue and take you to another place.
You want it so bad but you can’t say it to yourself, so you pretend.
Across the room there’s a young girl dressed in all-normal clothes.
She definitely knows who you are and she was one of that million that I just mentioned.
She sits tight in her chair, writing in her notebook.
Maybe she’s writing something about you, you can’t guess.
You can’t look into her eyes cause she’s noticed you’re staring at her.
When she finally looks at you , something pushes you away. This girl, she’s too much for you and maybe she’s not even just a girl and you can’t think of anything. You can’t even think about her. You just want to stare. You just want a peek.
She just wants the thing she believes that is you.
But she is too afraid to even think but she wishes for you to approach her with some silly question on the weather…
She can even see you standing and walking across the room in her direction. She can see it, you want it but you don’t do it.
You hesitate and she hesitates.
She’s sitting a little more loosen up right now.
Because of that stupid game she ignores the fact you might be even thinking on her.
And you aren’t. You just want her.
Sensing her move, you sit comfortably in your chair.
You mess with your hair at the same minute she looks at you.
She’s got a tiny crooked smile coming.
You both stare each other.
You take a deep breath.
She grabs her pen.
You get up.
She looks away.
You walk into her.
She catches her bag.
You ask her if you know each other and she smiles to you, telling you that she knows you. Or at least she knows who she thinks you are.
You both laugh and you go ahead and tell her that maybe she doesn’t really know you anyways…
She gets her things cause she must get going.
You say you got to go too and you both walk out of the door.
You don’t know what to do because all you want to do is to do her. To be with her. You want her to want you and you just let her go.
As she walks away you notice a small notebook on the sidewalk, it’s hers, you guess.
There you go, she’s left you her poems, her kisses in paper and her telephone number, in case you need her…
