campfires and really slow songs

it was a friday night and the clock kept on ticking
all the sounds of the entire experience
were winding down inside my ears
all the irrational justifications
and excusing what should never have been there in the first place
rushing in and out of this fantastical dream
knowing that we were just doomed from the start
a quiet stare behind your guitar
and that glare from your cold blue eyes
the perfect shade of orange
mixing excitement and that melodramatic tone
making that fire begin to roar
a subtle indication of your fateful nod towards destiny
i keep feeling your finger on my hand
and your warm breath in my ear
waiting for the whole episode to finally end
and there you are again
finally gone
just another chance of finding solace
behind this closed door, locked away in my room
that song is still playing on and on in my head
maybe you have another life
one where i have no place and no chance
and i don't think i really care that much
but i think i miss you, maybe just a little
all i have left is a faint memory
and an eighty-dollar bill