Everything that has a beginning has an end.
I mildly refuse this deep proposition since I’ve left so many things unfinished I could write a book about them. Couple of absurd one night stands, dodgy friendships, breathtaking women, gruesome heartbreaks and scars. Then there is always that one milk carton in the fridge that never makes it. Down the drain it goes, what a waste.
Let’s call this milk carton “Love”.
You understand nothing about love before you find yourself falling knee deep in rose petals for a woman whose real name is still a total mystery. My perception of reality can be blinded, yes. That is why men like me usually see things begin and end while the real truth has always been out there, in the open. Doesn’t matter how hard you struggle to end something, there will always be pieces of someone else inside of you.
Because real love never grows old on you. Relationships end.
Love stays, no matter how cold your feet get.
We just stop acting on it.
For all I care, the milk carton can stay in the fridge. I’m not throwing it away unless I need more room for my booze. At the moment, I could not care less if the love of my life happened to be a luxurious bitch.
This kid had run out of champagne long, long time ago.