Another chance for another kiss. Another chance for another
dance, another promise to keep, another wish to make; another chance to say all
the things you couldn’t, another chance to have all you could’ve.
Another chance for another lonely night, another void of
silence that swallows you whole; another punch in the gut at a disconnected
telephone line and another shatter of hopes at another distance that will
always be too much.
Another chance for love, another chance for heartbreak.
And you had your run, you had the kisses and the promises
you and him could never keep; you had the dreams that could never come true and
you had all the beautiful, bright things before you and him tore it apart.
You see – you see, dreams and promises and hopes – they’re
all airy, make-believe things you used to fool yourselves into pretending there
was something there when there was only ever space.
An endless expanse of things you couldn’t hold on to.
And that’s just it.
The space suffocated you, the nothing suffocated you – the only enough you had was the not
enough and you never really had anything, least of all him.
So when you told him I
can’t do this anymore, when he said I’m
sorry I made it this way – when you said your goodbyes and left, when you
left Calum – you didn’t look back.
Because you wanted to believe there could be beauty in the
space that led you to this, you wanted to believe that there were things
written in the stars that you used to wish upon, that it said some things were
meant to be, even if it wasn’t you and him.
It’s already there, you and him.
It’s already gone, you and him.
There are no second chances for stars; for things that have
already exploded and shined and died.
And you can’t have his touch again, you can’t have his kiss again;
you can’t wake up and relive those Sunday morning brunches again when it’s a
Monday in your new life without him, you can’t turn back the clock to make it
December 31st just because you’re afraid of what the change brings.
You can’t have his love again
when it’s already gone.
And even if you could – even if it was possible –
It wouldn’t be the same.
“Hey – I, uh… I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
He looks different, a little broader, a little tanner,
something about how his hair is styled and how he fits into the clothes that
are different from the ones you used to wear when you still remembered the
scent of his skin.
“Me too, I… I thought you’d be on tour or… somewhere else
with – with you know… I – I remember how busy your schedule was.”
The words come out as a stutter and his smile is as bitter
as his coffee on those sweet lips.
Because of course you
remember, of course the only thing you’d remember about him was the absence of
him – all the nights you spent alone and all the days reaching out to a ghost
of a far-gone boy, all the roads he drove on that were never on the way back
home, all the things that drove you away from him when he finally came back
“I’m on break, I – uh, just finished a world tour, actually.”
“Oh? That’s – that’s great.”
The enthusiasm is forced because you remember how it was his
dream, how it was everything he ever wanted.
How everything he wanted, how everything he dreamed of never
You’re shuffling your feet and he’s biting his lip; his
hands don’t know what to do with themselves and you’re looking for a way out of
something you thought you put behind you a long time ago.
Call it fate, my dear.
“So – what are you doing here?”
“School. I – I got an offer here to study so I thought it
would be good to just move here for a bit, um… you know.”
“Oh. That’s amazing – I, uh – congratulations on your offer.”
“Yeah. Thanks, I… I’m pretty happy to be here.”
How do you tell him about the heartbeats that fluttered like
butterfly wings when you got the offer you
dreamed of, that everything you worked for was coming true –
That it was bringing you back here, right back to the
beginning again – right to him again?
How do you tell him that the moment you saw the word Australia on your overseas contract, you
thought of him? How do you tell him that you still think of him when you look
at the stars, that you still look for him every Sunday morning in the bed
sheets next to you? How do you tell him that you don’t believe in second
chances, but god, you believed for a
moment in time that he would only need one?
How do you tell him that you still love him?
How do you tell him that you wish you didn’t?
How do you tell him that you wish he still did too?
You don’t have the words, but your mouth opens all the same –
but not before his spill out before yours.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t know what for, but I know I
always will be. For making you – us –
into this. This awkward as fuck how’s the
weather acquaintances when we used to be so much more. When we could’ve had more. I don’t – I don’t like want it to
be like this. This – this nothing.”
“I didn’t want the nothing either, Calum.”
He flinches like he’s been hit and he tries not to let your
words scar him as much as your goodbye did.
“I just want us back again.”
“And I just wanted an us
to begin with Calum.”
“We can make one then.”
“We tried once. We know how that turned out.”
“We don’t know how
it turned out – we don’t know how it will. It wasn’t an end.”
“Calum. Listen to
yourself. You and I – that was over a year
ago. It’s in the past, Calum. We can’t hold on to things – to things that
are broken, that are done.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
He’s pleading now, and you don’t know how to make this
stranger into someone you let close enough to love you again, you don’t know
how to make someone who hurt you once upon a time into a stranger.
“What we have is gone,
“Funny. We’re both standing right here.”
You bite your lip and he’s looking at you like you’re the
sun and he’d rather go blind than miss a moment of your radiance again.
“I can love you again.”
“You can hurt me again.”
And you’re afraid, you’re so goddamn afraid because this was
everything you dreamed and dreaded of when you touched down on the place that
Calum called his home before you.
“There’s no more distance. And there doesn’t have to be any
space – “ he takes the smallest step towards you and you remember all the
reasons why you wanted him close again “ – if you want to.”
You forgot how his eyes are as dark as the earth and how he
is carved out of mountains and valleys of a world you used to orbit around,
pulled in but only ever at the atmosphere – back when you used to drift in the
But now, now your feet are on solid ground with shaky knees
and you think you could crash land into him if you let yourself fall again.
“Could you love me again?”
He doesn’t want you to see his trembling fingers or hear his
thunderstorm heart; Calum doesn’t want you to see just how starved he is of
your love, how now all his dreams consist of you.
You force yourself to look into his eyes and you remember
how you looked in them, how it was everything you wanted – him, you with him,
space taken up by the two of you.
“I can’t love you again.”
His heart drops; the gravity of reality pulling him back
down to earth she doesn’t love me she
doesn’t love me –