And I just might tell you tonight that I love you.

Never took piano lessons
But baby you are grand
And I would learn to play the good notes
And tune you up the best I can

She shook her head ferociously, blinking back tears that weren't even threatening to fall.  He didn't have to know.  He didn't need to know.  As she slipped out of gaudy stiletto's, and let her tired feet feel the smooth coolness of the concrete, she sighed deeply.  Taking another drag of her cigarette, and with shoes hanging limply from one hand, she walked to where she wanted to go.

Which was nowhere.

And he never did find out.

i have a love/hate relationship with you. 

sometimes i feel as though i could hate you.  when you pester me in my dreams, pop into my head at the most inopportune moment, disappear from my life only to reappear when i don't actually need you.  those times when you offer me a glimpse of the real you, only to snatch it back with rigour when you get bored with me.

and perhaps the reasons that i could love you are exactly the same.  i just wish i didn't think about you every single bloody day.

i would like you to remain a figment of my imagination. 

Currently Listening Without You I'm Nothing By Placebo Ask for Answers see related

The Real World.

It shouldn't bother you, but it does.

You crave for people to leave you alone and yet you crave for attention.  You crave for everybody to actually like you, despite claiming that you couldn't care less.

She left you alone.  You know that she's still around because you see her, nattering away to others.  But she simply ignores you even when you try to make contact, catch her eye, act endearing, deeply seething inside.

And you don't know what you've done. 

But there's still a part of you that couldn't care less and you have to hold onto that, hard, to stop caring so much.

In the Real World she doesn't exist. 

Currently Listening Costello Music By Fratellis see related

Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night ...

Her life was nothing more than a re-run of nightmares and not-so subtle pangs of panic. 

She dreamt that everything went up shit creek, that places that should have been wonderful weren't, and objects that should have been beautiful were more wrong than real. 

So she banged her head with the flat palm of her hand.

Which helped not a bit.  Just as she knew it wouldn't. 

When her hair naturally curls it makes her feel whimsical. 

baby, come dance with me ...

i would like to have breakfast with you.

following a night of intimate entanglement on fresh white sheets.

a single brown gerbera sitting prettily in a milk bottle.

the gentle sea breeze playfully caressing the curtains at the open window.

sid vicious gazing down upon the scene, a faint smirk of gentle humour on his black and white glossy face.

unvicious.

pachelbel lingering in our ears.

a car hooting its horn.

viciously.

later we might walk along the promenade.

eat candy-floss.

run barefoot from flirtatious waves.

lie giggling on the october sand.

watch the world go by.

invisibly.

curiously.

but first.

i would just like to have breakfast with you.