True affection sinks like a stone. There's a disconnect from the past. The events previously occurred bear no present concerted thought. And the mind... begins... to wander. Smoke billows like silk ribbons from the remnants of a parting gift rolled by a mysterious maiden of the now so unfamiliar yesterhours. Yesterhours? Yes... Yesterhours. There's passing recollection of her floating on those wisps of fairy white, feather dust light silt hanging thick in the room. Mr. Steez pours over her reflections as they sit like smog at his omniscient eye level. The wrinkles on his face furrow further as the music blarring in his ears brings memories of another.
And so it seemss, only in dreams
They're slow-dancing, cheek-to-cheek down Rivers Cuomo's dreary little waterslide. And the splashes of drums. And the explosions of yearning from the six-strings. And the come down. And the bass. And the come up. And the come up! And the music tears by, and the headfirst waterfall approaches, and they're left standing awashed in the nostalgia. The moment's passed as the song fades. Hands fall to their respective sides and he turns away.
Seasons came, and changed the timee
He would always laugh and say, remember when we used to playy
Bang, bang... and the air's cleared.
Mr. Steez's eyes dart. Here and there, mournfully looking for a new focus as the previous one has curiously elluded pin-pointing.
They dart past whores in his head, dart they past whores in his bed. They haven't been trying to meet them, said the man to the lady.
They find solace and the ears perk at New York, courtesy of Cat Power.
Strangely inspiring. Time to make moves. ;)
