You know how it started. We bought those little bottles of Jack and parked your truck out on the levy. The moon was only half there but bright enough to cast shadows beneath us and throw dancing lights out across the water. That night was as hot as an Arizona summer and we slept out under a million stars with the grass tickling our sides, we were so free.
I can't even bring myself to take that dress I wore out of the closet. We're so chained by everything we have to be. Things aren't the same between us now, I don't know if they ever will be. You're so miserably square in that suit and tie, and it's all I can do to keep breathing buried beneath layers of smog in the confines of this car as I spend my life commuting from a home which is less than homely to a plastic cell in a concrete prison which stands as a monument to all those wasted good intentions and a million distorted dreams. We're living dishonestly to our true selves.
I still love you, yet somehow that feels distorted too.
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