So perhaps when I took a gander at you, I knew you were honest to goodness. I saw behind the fluffiness of the Saturday night drinks, the twinkle in your eye, the way both my companions and your companions pushed us towards each other as though that would by one means or another fulfill the aching in our souls.
So perhaps it was straightforward. No guidelines. No bullsh*t desires. Only two individuals grinning underneath that Southern California moon, needing simply their hands entwined with each other, their voices talking guarantees they were relatively prepared to keep.
So perhaps I was brave. You took a gander at me over that swarmed bar and I wasn't pondering regardless of whether I should run. I was venturing towards you unknowingly. I was chuckling. I was cherishing the way your lips shaped hi and how my name sounded leaving your mouth.
So perhaps it was simple. Falling into you. Remaining up late and discussing dreams. Taking in each other's vitality. Envisioning an existence that would reach out a long ways past that bar, that little sea town, those four room dividers.
So perhaps tomorrows progressed toward becoming todays. Also, you exited to pursue dreams while I pursued mine, leaving our telephone calls to fill the void. So perhaps I tuned in to the sound of your voice, envisioned the lines of your cheeks, the bend of your grin.
So perhaps I spent my evenings creating out what I would state, while 2,500 miles away you did likewise.
So perhaps we realized what we were getting into, and we picked everything the same.
So perhaps you're not here, but rather that doesn't make a difference. Your lips are distant yet I can even now taste the aching in my chest.
So perhaps this is hard, however I wouldn't have it some other way. Since I know we both need this. Since I know I need you.
So perhaps I close my eyes and you're here. Breathing my air. Tuning in to the autos pass on this swarmed road. Tasting this brew. Purchasing the following round, your arm freely around me.
So perhaps this isn't what I envisioned when I thought 'romantic tale.' But this is our own, and damn, I trust we continue composing it.
So perhaps I can't hold you during the evening, you can't kiss me when I'm falling into a terrible dream. So perhaps we're going out with companions on inverse sides of the nation, giggling at jokes, endeavoring to imagine this is fine.
So perhaps this is hard as damnation. However, we're picking it, we're picking each other.
So perhaps tomorrow isn't so far away, or whenever I see you, or the following after that. So perhaps we have date-books and plans and thoughts that fill pages.
So perhaps it's not as alarming as we thought.
So perhaps this is what it resembles to know something is genuine—in light of the fact that whatever's before you never again thinks about