Bar. Tonic. Off shoulder. Dance with me.

Heart skipped a beat. No response.

Heart still skips it but pretends. It looks like it does not know what love is. Brain repeats that word as it is trying to remember something.

Want to write a book about our story. Our? My story. I live in it alone. I created a novel. I live in a novel.

Ending is going to look like this " They looked old, but where feeling in their thirties. Sat on their porch holding hands and tried not to regret spending life separately. They were present. That moment was a gift. It was perfect timing. It was planned by destiny. Life was cruel. That love was pure and needed that timing. There is no perfection. No idile. But that was close. She was still not broken Aquarius and it was first time that he had nothing to say."

I have not told to anyone that I met you. Not going to. This is going to be a little secret. It looks like I have you lock you further down. Never going to forget. Hoping that you are going to forget me.