It’s the urge to carve your name in the walls of the places you hate so that for ever generations may someday follow your legacy. There is no legacy it’s just another name on a wall of a place you hated.

His eyes are so light that they can talk to you with just a glance to his right- your left- to the dance floor in another country. Another country last week. Your name is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter because you love this place…

And will never scar it with your name.

But you never know. He talks to you with his eyes, but you are not the only one he graces with his speech.

Smirk, glance.

Gorgeous. Enchanting. Everything dangerous.

With such an effort to smile your grin like everything is failing and it is, but you do it anyway.

Because it’s what you want to do least.

Hurt yourself, but be happy about it. You sound like a fucking emo poser.

The words fucking emo poser have just ruined the screen.

What happened to romance and words? Digitalized with smirks and glances.

Gorgeous. Enchanting. Everything dangerous—watch out I’m watching.

But never looking because seeing your smirk makes me want to brush my hair with knives.

But with the knives I will leave my legacy on the dance floor from countries away. Watch.

Don’t look.