recollect

we were on the roof overlooking 2nd street while the wind was carefully caressing our backs. after hours of words that were meant to be lyrics and drinks that should have never started, we just smiled silently. that was always when i knew to pull back. once the laughing would stop and the gazing began, i'd guard up. that very moment was the last time you would ask.
could we truthfully start this? could we invest in longevity and publicize our writing's muse? could we wake to each other and know our goodbyes would be shorter? could we start being vulnerable and make a life out of this piano's chords?
the answer was always no.
two self destructive creatures could never last long enough to not burn down the city. i didn't fear our differences but knew too well our similarities. our taste for darkness was too elegant; our love of selves was too demanding.
"i just thought that you should know, it's never one thing at all."
and in moments where i would unfailingly turn back to you, i have since then refused.
you always said to trust your gut.