The Ghosts of New York City

I remember the first time I finally managed to fall in love, it was with myself, then this idea, then you. Twisted love stories told by wilted magnolias down by the bodega on the corner. Your house on the hill is your top floor apartment, no one can see you cry up there, and if your tears should ever fall from the top floor and escape your window, please convince the pedestrians below that it is just another rainy day, and that too shall pass. 

You hold the key to my heart but the only thing on your mind it seems when you let yourself in was robbery, and after everything was in shambles I didn’t ask for the key back. 

And these are the ways things have always been and the horizon of the way things will always be.

We were a puzzle, putting everything together and couldn’t see we didn’t have all the pieces as we got towards the end … I’m still glad we started everything… because I go back and look at what almost was…

but it’s too late now.

You promised me you wouldn’t fall in love with anyone else, but I can’t help feeling this feeling you lied, it’s your eyes my medusa, and the melodic hypnotic sound when you speak with them, like the wipers on your windshield fighting the rain, one kiss and I’m rock stiff … 

Heaven. 

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