back on the middle of nowhere

It's just this way of walking under the rain, of looking in the eyes, maybe shy, what the hell are you thinking about? when I just want to kiss you. It's just this way of loving little things. It's all about how you say "I'm late" but you don't really care. Nor do I. It's your sweet madness.

And, by God, it's all about feeling alive, you know? It's... just caring about being now here, because in a few hours I'll be back on the middle of nowhere. It's so hard to learn that things only happen once in the life. It's pretending that I'm in love with you to avoid falling for you. It's being far, far away from here. Now, here. Nowhere. And then, just behind you. "Who am I?" Who are you? I don't even know if I care.

It's squeezing the hours. It's taking your breathe away. And then, giving it back to you, as if it was a treasure. Because it is. And I can imagine you walking quickly in a lonely street wrinkling this paper with your hands.

Do you see how you distract me? I didn't want to write about you. Your hair is everywhere.