I have this detestable habit
Of setting up scenarios
That will make me upset.
Little reminders reminding me
Of how I am not meant to be happy.
Whether these be the songs you played me
On repeat and repeat.
Or waking to a face that is not home to eyes
Of that enigmatic, lucid green hue.

     I saw the world through those eyes;
     Now my sight is less clear.

But everyone has an art
That makes them the object of affection.
When I found a love so divine,
It was when I spent my time honing mine.
Now my art involves dry liquids;
A masterpiece comes at the end of a bottle.
Because nobody is lonely
When they’re seeing double.

But our cars are our peace of mind,
So let’s jump in yours, always so cold
And warm the inside with our inconvenient love.
Play Jets to Brazil all the way through;
I’ll lower the volume to listen to you,
Because nothing is as sweet
As the sound of that voice.
Our love is a hopeless love,
But that does not mean anything;
Hopeless love is still love,
Isn’t it?