I am in love with his words. I want to hold them to my chest and let them sing me to sleep even though lullabies were never really my thing.
They’re not mine. They belong to some nameless girl on some nameless street with bluer eyes and blonder hair; the picture of perfection. I only borrow them from time to time.
But that’s okay. Loving a person takes time. Loving words takes an instant.
So all that I need is a little bit of time to play pretend; to slip into the shoes of a girl that I’ll probably never meet and fall finally, blissfully asleep.