You're wondering... what is a place like me doing in a girl like this?
The streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me.
It's dark
It's dark where the roses grow
There's something that you should know
Before you see the light
It's dark
It's dark where the roses grow
There's places I have to go
Before I see the light
The second humans lose their comfort zone, the more simplistic their actions become.
The further I run
The more than I've become
Weightless and numb to the hurting
Worries and fears hold no gravity here
It's the only place
It all makes sense to me
— "Did I have a spot?" he asked with a half grin.
— You’ll always have a spot.
I wanted to tell him that the pool, the garden, the house, the tennis court, the orle of paradise, the whole place, would always be his ghost spot. Instead, I pointed upstairs to the French windows of his room. Your eyes are forever there, I wanted to say, trapped in the sheer curtains, staring out from my bedroom upstairs where no one sleeps these days. When there’s a breeze and they swell and I look up from down here or stand outside on the balcony, I’ll catch myself thinking that you’re in there, staring out from your world to my world, saying, as you did on that one night when I found you on the rock, I’ve been happy here. You’re thousands of miles away but no sooner do I look at this window than I’ll think of a bathing suit, a shirt thrown on on the fly, arms resting on the banister, and you’re suddenly there, lighting up your first cigarette of the day—twenty years ago today. For as long as the house stands, this will be your ghost spot—and mine too, I wanted to say.
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