The story starts with him standing outside his room
Looking up at the ceiling while stepping on the tiny pieces
That had felt after the rain.
At the same moment, she was laying down on her recent assembled bed
And reading a book she did not have much interest on,
While her computer was beeping over and over,
Alerting on a new MSN message.
They are not connected in a real way.
Although they know each other.
This is a note on my notebook.
It won’t go anywhere.
The story starts with him standing on his porch
And holding a cigarette although he has quit smoking
Six months ago.
She, on the contrary, is sitting on the kitchen table
Listening to pump-it-up songs and counting the left over change.
The night will be long, if she has enough money for the weed.
They know each other,
Maybe are somewhat connected.
Another note,
My notebook is still semi-empty.
The story starts with him laying on his bed,
Unable to sleep and staring at his new purchased phone.
There are not any incoming calls.
In the coffee shop, she is typing unreasonable answers
Apparently necessary for her new assignment.
It is still early in the afternoon, but the fact the phone hasn’t ring yet
Makes her somewhat down-to-earth personality
Convulsively annoyed.
They should be calling each other,
If they knew of each other’s existence.
Maybe I should jump some pages,
The blank spots can be filled later.
Life is not a series of successful events anyways.
The story starts with him thinking of her.
He doesn’t know the reason of such insane thought.
Maybe she resembles his old lifestyle.
He decides to go down the stairs, cross the street and
Grab some coffee with the usual quantity of cream and sugar.
She is laying down on someone else’s bed
While tears roll down on her face.
She thinks of the hundreds of people
In her contact list
No one with a real value.
She feels isolated in a chaotic world,
She used to call it her own world.
She doesn’t know what she is.
She ideals what she should be.
I close my notebook unable to produce any plausible story.
Looking up at the ceiling while stepping on the tiny pieces
That had felt after the rain.
At the same moment, she was laying down on her recent assembled bed
And reading a book she did not have much interest on,
While her computer was beeping over and over,
Alerting on a new MSN message.
They are not connected in a real way.
Although they know each other.
This is a note on my notebook.
It won’t go anywhere.
The story starts with him standing on his porch
And holding a cigarette although he has quit smoking
Six months ago.
She, on the contrary, is sitting on the kitchen table
Listening to pump-it-up songs and counting the left over change.
The night will be long, if she has enough money for the weed.
They know each other,
Maybe are somewhat connected.
Another note,
My notebook is still semi-empty.
The story starts with him laying on his bed,
Unable to sleep and staring at his new purchased phone.
There are not any incoming calls.
In the coffee shop, she is typing unreasonable answers
Apparently necessary for her new assignment.
It is still early in the afternoon, but the fact the phone hasn’t ring yet
Makes her somewhat down-to-earth personality
Convulsively annoyed.
They should be calling each other,
If they knew of each other’s existence.
Maybe I should jump some pages,
The blank spots can be filled later.
Life is not a series of successful events anyways.
The story starts with him thinking of her.
He doesn’t know the reason of such insane thought.
Maybe she resembles his old lifestyle.
He decides to go down the stairs, cross the street and
Grab some coffee with the usual quantity of cream and sugar.
She is laying down on someone else’s bed
While tears roll down on her face.
She thinks of the hundreds of people
In her contact list
No one with a real value.
She feels isolated in a chaotic world,
She used to call it her own world.
She doesn’t know what she is.
She ideals what she should be.
I close my notebook unable to produce any plausible story.
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