I get deranged every time the seasons change. Sometimes I'll walk to George Square just to stand in the rain. And every door, every corner of every window spells out your name.
I'll start again.
I'll start again because that's all I have left to choose. Nothing left to lose. All I have left is a misty memory of you, standing in your two-piece dress confessing that we're through. And the rain seems to bend around me like, it doesn't want me too.
I'll start again,
Because this brain of mine, it wasn't made by intelligent design. It was made by atoms and molecules and time. I'll always tend to get philosophical. Especially when getting kicked in the teeth is topical. It's the only kind of self-preservation that I know.
You'll start again,
Like you physically can't remember. Like a gambling addict, desperately clutching on to that last dying ember of hope. You'll smile; but deep down you just feel strange. If the time has gone to reconcile, is it time to change?
We'll start again,
Not because we want to, because we must. Like two already weary travellers standing on the cusp, of another great adventure, where everything is the same.
Except us.