It's a classic case of the hunt coming alive to teach us a thing or two about sealing the deal. With beheading ink and blinding paper, a stationary keeping you stationary in your thoughts, in your sights, in your movements. Staring at the walls hoping she is staring back. Singing tunes with the beats from the hearts of us all who are so sure we are destined to be loved. It's not until he skips town that he reconciles with the path he was so recently drug along. He's the puller now, looking back just to study the bumps that it takes to diminish a lusting expression. I am not a soldier, you've only mistaken me for one. This is not what I had in mind when I thought "love." So cast your apologies across the sky and cut me down from where I've managed to climb for the sake of the vibrant view. He has been the one he never meant to be but is certain that he wants to be with. He has got the ink he never meant to read but knew he would keep copies of, holding on.
