I love you is only a darkened whisper between two souls intertwined, until one leaves. In the end, it’s Just a false alarm.
I’m pregnant is the resounding silence of a shattered relationship where commitment was only a curfew. Turns out to be Just another false alarm.
I do is the pristine moment when the world dissolves around two hearts alone. Yet, doubt was on the guest list. Now what? It was Just another false alarm.
It’s going to be okay is the mantra of this generation where hedonistic lives thrive under bridges, in the bushes, on the tram, behind the door. So really, it’s all Just another false alarm.
I’m ready to die* is the cry not of children, but of the aged, whose tokens have been spent on the lottery life advertises at bingo games. Despite their withered wisdom, in the end, it’s Just another false alarm.