The strands of my hair mix well with the breeze
and here you are, right in front me.
And it's a typical evening at Danny's
of slow-dance romances and marijuana smokers.
I'm sitting here with you in the night that smells of whiskey
And I can't help but wonder,
why do some people only exist sometimes?
People,
like you.
Who appear in the cab, on the way home or
in front of me when when I am looking at my reflection on the floor.
Or people,
like Danny.
Who don't exist until I'm writing a poem.
I'm sitting here with you in the night that smells of whiskey
And I can't help but wonder,
why do some people only exist sometimes?