I saw a shooting star tonight
And thought of wishing for you
When I looked over beside me
And saw him smiling my way

I thought about my life
In that split second that it passed
The tail burning brightly
In the dark night sky

And I wouldn't change a thing
Not a broken heart
Not a minute wasted
Not a moment regretted

Because I am happy
With how my life is
Just the way it is
So I closed my eyes tightly
Knowing already, I got my wish

I don't prefer music of this generation
The kind that only talks about getting a girl home
Having one night of intense stranger-***
And then what?
What do you say when you are done?
How long do you hold her
Before your arm falls asleep and she almost kicks you off the bed?
Do you give her cab money in the morning?
Do you call her when she gets home?
Those are the problems that those songs don't address

Music used to mean so much more
It was the kind about real love
Real love that you lost
Maybe that's why I like it so much
Because I could listen to it
And actually relate
Instead of imagining myself at a club
With intense music
Where an insanely attractive, yet toxic man walks up to me
And asks if I want to go home with him
What would I say?
"Uh, sir, I can't go home with you until you tell me your credit score..."
Or "Let's make like a fetus and head out..."
No, I'm too socially awkward for this
I can't separate physical attraction and emotions
I'm not good at *** with strangers
Perhaps because I know the dangers of strangers
Or maybe because I know the potential dangers of ***

I listen to the seventies and eighties
That is the age of Billy Joel, ELO, and Fleetwood Mac
The ones that actually loved

You told me tonight
You were worried about me
Worried that I was depressed
Because you don't think
I'm happy anymore

How would I know?
What is depression?
Even if I knew
I wouldn't admit it
It would make me too sad

Can you fix something
If it's already broken?

I always try to repair
What needs helped

While you
Simply let it go

I beat things to death
Trying to fix them
Maybe I just cause more damage
By trying to force them together
When maybe they were better off falling apart

I kept on telling him
that his hands felt like
clouds until he found
my lips and told me
they felt like pillows
and tasted of sugar
cubes scrambled
into grapplings of salt.
He held my face
with his hands and
I was sure for minutes
at a time, that I could
read through him, the
forecast from his wet hands.