It’s the last hour of the last night of the year and the dark begins to grow darker. Unsurprisingly, you find yourself more or less in the same place you were a year ago, sitting under the glow of filtered neon lights, letting the sound of the pounding bass reverberate through your body, rattling your bones. It’s almost loud enough to make you forget your own heartbeat and that you are alone in this strange city, sitting next to a pretty blonde angel that is looking postively edible. One cue, he turns around, revealing startling blue eyes, lips twisting in a mockery of a smile as he orders another drink. Dull. You prefer green eyes anyways and incline your head dismissively. This was a game, after all, and with every game, there were rules to play by, even if you have to make up those rules along the way. First, don’t take names or numbers from strangers. Second, don’t forget to turn the stove off when you leave. But most importantly, don’t let yourself fall in love with a memory. Because sooner or later, you are going to find yourself standing on a rooftop at 3 AM, clutching that photograph in your hand and wondering if you will ever be able to stop chasing for answers that will never be found.
My dear, even if it was the last night of our whole lives, would you have dinner with me?
