"It's in the eyes,
I can tell you will always be danger...
We had it tonight,
Why do we always seek absolution"
It's 3 a.m and I have to work tomorrow.
There's no child left in me,
willing me to go to bed at 10 p.m.,
anxiously waiting for the next dawn to watch morning cartoons.
No remnants of teenager either,
to curse at the alarm in the morning
tuck the thermometer against the bedside lamp and pretend I was sick.
My college days are gone too.
Back then, 3 a.m. was a pretty normal time to start watching a couple of movies...
Wait for my friends to get back from their night out and tell me how I can't miss it tomorrow.
They'll say that the same girl from last night was there and was asking for me.
Even if she wasn't.
3 a.m. and I can't leave the bar.
Her voice still echoes around the oak wood walls as she sings on the small stage in the corner. Her time should have been up a long time ago yet she keeps singing like it's her last night; a guitar in her hands and a constrained smile on her lips, trying to subtly hide the fact she's enjoying what she's doing way too much. She sings as if she's been places and seen things I know she hasn't. She's way too young to have seen them. But there's a wistful nostalgia in her words that lingers in the air, way after they have been sung. The kind that makes us think of our "way back whens".
5 cigarettes ago I told myself I'd only listen to one more.
Tomorrow, I won't get up at the break of dawn...do they still have cartoons that early?
I won't pretend I am sick...no one to pretend it to anyway.
I won't go to any of the clubs I used to go to every other night or binge-watch a whole season of Mad Men.
I'll get up when the alarm rings, head to the studio and start working like the half-responsible adult I am.
But tonight I felt a little bit of every me while listening to her music. And I felt like writing about it.
________
And so I did.
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