That night he couldn’t sleep. He thought of her, all of her.
We’ll build a fire in your eyes. Cold desire makes the moon without a tide
Tired and frustrated, he looked out the window.
Take our hands out of control.
He hoped she was thinking of him too. He hoped he hadn’t scared her off. He hoped she liked him too. He also hoped he wouldn’t stop being such a girl and would go do something about it.
He would’ve if not for the fact that he’d had bad luck in the past. Too many girls had slipped past his grasp, barely batting an eyelid and an even larger number had said – “Thanks but uh…no thanks?”
He looked around his room: at the collection of vinyl of artists from Michael Jackson to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs; his crappy montage art that was plastered on his bedroom wall to just make it seem like he didn’t care and his sketchbook. The one he had been “reading” when he saw her. The page that depicted her face.
Gold Lion’s gonna tell me where the light is
She was his light. If only he knew where she was.