Makes us it, makes us in, set the scene.
Here’s all that I am. And there’s all that you are.
Piece by piece, story by story, carefully laid out on the white mat, here’s all that we are, under the microscope, to be labeled and analysed, classified and discharged.
You and me, for the inquisitive eye to see. Dissected, torn apart, broken down into snaps and bits and tiny chunks of us.
Let’s scramble and shuffle.
Sort out the bits and pieces, list them by size and by weight, by color and smell, by light and by heart.
Export the lists into an online spreadsheet, let the algorithm decide which are the winning combinations of you and I.
Father, thy art in Heaven, glue the best parts of us together, and somehow make each-other whole again.
Make us proper this time. With all the screws in the rights places, all the joints perfectly oiled, no more cracks and no more sparks.
Make us it, make us in, set the scene.
This time will be different.
No more primal needs and no more fears, no more beauty, no more passion and best of all, no more honesty.
We don’t need honesty.
Genuine souls are not in the top 10 search results of your preferred engine. Honesty is for losers, you won’t find it in the suggested topics. We are in, we are it.
This time will be different.
This time it will be all about the double taps and well-lit nights, public fights, and all the lights. Coming soon, to a cinema near you.
We’ll live our story in planned keywords and trending hashtags, our love means nothing to the world if it isn’t live streamed.
Why are we even here if there isn’t an audience to cheer us on as we set the scene on stage, for the newest #couplegoals to take over?
Fuck the secrets, fuck your fire.
Share the new you, new me in viral videos, frames of unrequited love, played out and re-winded on the flat screen, share us in HD for the world to see and feel and judge.
Make them buy the Blu-Ray version with their blood and sweat and tears.
They’ll check the local vendors for reruns of their favorite scenes, would you like to pay with cash, we have a special offer, two lost souls for the price of one.
This time will be different.
That oh so fleeting skin-on-skin feeling, that joy so everlasting, so sudden, so all of it? Mere props for the third-act confrontation, the season finale and the standing ovation scene.
The End. ?.
Don’t give them some neatly wrapped finale, don’t tie those loose ends just yet, let them sweat and worry, let them watch us hustle and struggle.
They won’t pay for the ticket if they can smell the happy ending, keep them guessing, wondering, tease their loneliness with the perfect dose of suspense and revelations.
Cheap 94 minutes thrills, the show is sold out from the early-bird, big success, yes.
Let them pay for the adrenaline of watching all that you are and all that I am, unfold in front of their glassy eyes, oh honey, of course they’ll sort out their problems, love always wins right?
Capitalize on heartbreak and champagne, the only option we now have.
Because, what would be the alternative? Going back to it?
After all that has once been, would you honest-to-god really, truly desire going back there, ever in your lifespan?
After tearing the skin off your bones and smashing your rip cage into stardust, what’s there left to say?
After kicking the air out of your lungs, after hearing my name rushing inside your blood, after learning each layer of your skin, is there really anything more to say?
This time will be different, no more smiles and no more jokes.
No more hands and please, for the love of Odin, only silence for now on, so much silence and nothingness you’ll doubt you even were real.
Look at you, look at me.
Honesty is for losers and the honesty would lose you, lose me, it’s already lost us. There’s so much fire and light inside, I just can’t and won’t take it anymore.
Fuck it, I quit. Keep your light and your mind, your lust and your heart.
I’m selling your love at the local market, 50 cents by the gram, who needs it anyway?
