I suppose that I expected more from him, a sad sort of smile, or a hesitant wave; perhaps a backward glance as he drove away. But there was nothing. Only an empty street and the pitter patter sound of rain. With a heavy heart and a muddled brain, I passed under flickering streetlights and brushed dampened hair out of my face. Maybe this was how it was always meant to be, that he left the same way he came. In a fast car with an exotic name, his eyes concealed beneath thick black shades. As the rain soaked into my shirt and trickled in streams down my face he put distance between us until he was miles away. The bad ones never leave and the good ones never stay. The chill reminds me of the warmth of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his lips. My fingers traced his veins like a road map, x marked the spot. And he's out there in the dark somewhere wondering where to go, and where to not. Thunder crashes like cymbals, a sad sort of serenade; while he's cruising down the boulevard of all my broken dreams. Maybe he'll come back one day, with the world in his hand and wind under his feet. Yes maybe he'll come home once day, running back to me...