Looking out at the skyline, I tend to write balcony scenes, with two people at a friend’s apartment, where one’s babysitting a drink, and the other can’t express his feelings. It’s my mind’s way of putting myself in that position, where everything’s going right, except I can’t ask you the question, to which my heart already knows your answer.
“As You Are.” | Produced and Performed by The Weeknd. | Beauty Behind the Madness. | ©2015 XO/Republic.
Hair’s up in a bun, she reminds me of Judith Hoag, only with glasses, talking to her mom on the train ride home, asking if there’s any cake left, but appearing disappointed by the answer on the other end. We’re both tired when we eventually find ourselves sharing a balcony. I ask for her life story, and she says the night’s no longer young. Just like we used to be? I counter, and she says speak for yourself. Why doesn’t it take being alone together to bring us closer together? Days in the east, silence from the west, befallen and begotten, it is the human curse. My words only make it worse. They’re misunderstood, and they’re unmeant, at least not in the way that they’ve been said. My jokes aren’t all jokes if it’s truth that they reflect, beyond semicolon closed parenthesis.