You used to get it in your fishnetsNow you only get it in your night dressDiscarded all the naughty nights for nicenessLanded in a very common crisis
How long has it been? Two, maybe three years? She doesn’t remember, but her brain still holds onto the vague memories of the past of which all she remembers is him. The look on his face when she would whisper sweet nothings into his ear, feeding his mind with lust and offering herself to him. It wasn’t long ago, was it? Hopping casinos and nightclubs, getting arrested for public indecency, and constantly bailing each other out using the illegal cash.
Those were all things that were barely in arms reach as of now.
Everything's in order in a black holeNothing seems as pretty as the past thoughThat Bloody Mary's lacking in TabascoRemember when you used to be a rascal?
Her life is sorted now, but the mess she’s made of herself from years ago comes flooding back in a matter of seconds. The photo frames of her and a bespectacled blond looking happier than life itself. They weren’t exactly successful, but they were happy. Isn’t happiness success within itself already? Isn’t happiness enough? She reluctantly regrets letting her old life slip past her like the midnight wind she is kissed by out on the fire escape.
Oh the boy's a slagThe best you ever had
She examines the photo thoroughly and she realises. In every single photo of her with him: she is grinning from ear to ear; yet in every other photo her radiant smile is washed away like bleach against blood.
Oh, Flo, where did you go?Where did you go?
Her sweaty palms hold the frame close to her chest, tears almost escaping the pockets of her eyes as if they’re making home in the hollows of her cheeks but slowly escaping them. Just like him, those tears were. Utterly and completely helpless but something she didn’t want to lose so unwillingly.
Remember when you used to be a rascal?(You're not coming back again.)
