It's easy to fall asleep under the stars when you're alone. Unless, that is, you remember all the times you weren't by yourself on a clear night like this.
It's always the memory that gets you.
Maybe another swig of booze will dull the memories, let's give it a try.
Nope, no better.
Maybe a pill? What is this shit anyway? They tell you what it is, but who really knows with that type of dude. Could be anything really. Who cares, don't take it.
Isn't it funny how some days no matter what you try, you just feel the same?
You listen to a mellow song to calm yourself down, but you're just too damn full of life.
You talk to an old friend to cheer yourself up, but you still feel like you've got pins and needles in your heart.
Don't move.
It always hurts more when you move.
Just try to fall asleep.
If you pretend to fall asleep noone will ever suspect otherwise. And if you pretend for long enough, you're bound to fall asleep for real.
At least that's the idea.
But on a night like this it never works.
Your brain's on the Autobahn and someone's cut the brakes.
Maybe it was your heart.
That sneaky bastard always pulls shit like this.
And it's always with impeccable timing.
I'm looking for that star we called our own so long ago.
If only I had a gun I'd shoot it right out of the sky.
I didn't mean that, I apologize.
It's just sad to think that that little speck in oblivion will never die.
The same can't be said for what was once between you and I.
Crying shame, I usually keep my promises in life.
And I usually expect the same from others.
Some people don't take such things to heart.
Not me.
I feel like a fraud whenever my promises dissolve.
I wish everyone did.
I bet the world would be a better place that way, cuz guilt can be a potent ally.
Trust me.
I can feel a warm breeze blowing in, which is a little odd for this time of year.
But I can't complain, it can be cold with noone out here to warm you up.
It's hard to take your eyes off the stars. Even blinking feels like a bastardization of sorts.
It's kinda like starting into a book, then missing all the important parts.
Then the tale turns into some sort of miscarried jumble of ideas.
The air's starting to get heavy.
You gotta love that feeling. Kinda like some invisible blanket being lazily tossed over your bones.
That last line sounds like something a naive 10th grader would write in some fucking poetry class to impress a girl that's way out of his league.
Pure bullshit.
Contrived and forced.
I'm amazed such tripe is tolerated here.
Come to think of it, all that's been said tonight is worthy of the dirtiest trash can you can find.
Clouds have just rolled in.
One by one the stars are fading and the night's becoming mundane, just like any other.
I'd better get home before the rain comes. I can smell it in the distance.
Just as I stand, I'm overcome by the strangest of sights.
To my surprise, there seems to be thousands of us out here in this field.
I've no idea how they all got here, I must be wasted.
There's gotta be a dozen people not a stone's throw away.
They all seem to be getting up to depart, just like me.
But the curious fact is not that they are all out here tonight.
It's the fact that every single one of them is alone.
And that, friends, is unbridled irony.
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