En un lugar por el que paso mucho, había una botella de cerveza tirada. La botella estuvo ahí por lo menos seis meses. Cada día que pasaba, miraba la botella y pensaba “Cuando van a limpiar la banqueta estos del gobierno.”

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I stand here in the core of the night believing how great it is to touch your face. How seeing your eyes so close to mine and thinking they’re looking back at me, just me.

Loving you was ever so easy; I must accept I didn’t put much effort into it. Not loving that smile would be like not loving to have a lungful of air.

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