In the years to come…
maybe I’ll remember the blinding city lights and the veil of rain that, gave an otherworldly sense of beauty to the dirty grey streets and the dark, dark night.
Maybe I’ll remember the cacophony of dreams; the desperate ones, the secret ones, the sweet ones, the ones being fulfilled and the ones being shattered with every breath you took.
Maybe I’ll remember being buffered by luck and fate and lonely, lost people as they rushed to and from their whimsical worlds.
I only see those dark eyes and the promise of warm oblivion there.
My world under your red umbrella is rose tinted, blood poison. There is music in the cruel wind that whips around your skirt and in the relentless rain that cages us in.
Tomorrow you will be gone.
Like the dew does with the first, gentle caress of the sun and years later, I may not be able to recall the exact colour of your dark, dark eyes.
Tonight, all that matters is that you smell like cigarettes and lies, of sandcastles and sin and that you paint my world in every shade of red that ever existed in this seemingly endless rain.