‘Apologies are overrated.’
I’m not saying that you said it,
But I read it in your eyes.
Your lies are always overstated.
If you really want to be it,
Can’t you see you need to try?
It’s not like I haven’t said before.
There’s a little more to life than,
Standing still and waiting
For a knock that never hits your door.
Try to smile, you’ll understand
It moves much more than hating.
It’s taken me a while, but I have come to the realisation that the only gentleman I know is my brother. How utterly soul destroying is that? Now I’m not saying that they’re extinct, but I also have an unwavering belief that a dodo will someday be found alive and well. What I’m saying is that I’ve never met one in real life. Well, I’ve met good candidates that later revealed themselves to be all sorts of crazy. Eddie Redmayne seems a good prospect, but he has yet to show up at my house holding a bouquet.
Is it just that chivalry has become unfashionable? I have a suspicion that, in smashing through that glass ceiling with bared teeth and placards, women have terrified men out of opening doors or offering to pay. In becoming equal, we have confused the menfolk in our lives into treating us the same as men. Then again, in the interests of equality and loveliness, I think gentlemen should be polite towards other men too. Opening doors is common courtesy; violence is not cool and bodily functions in public? Just no.
So where are these magical dodo men? Maybe the ideal of the Disney prince has skewed my brain, and maybe my standards are too high. Then again, maybe other people’s own standards are far too low. So if you know any dodos, please send me exact co-ordinates. Until then, I shall be staring out of my window, just in case Eddie Redmayne is found alive and well on my garden path.
If we could dance ’til morning
Maybe outside won’t exist,
And maybe we could live inside
The linger of a kiss.
I know I’m speaking nonsense
But it’s how you make me feel.
I’m happy just to lie down now
And let you take the wheel,
‘Cause I trust you and I love you
And these words don’t seem quite right,
‘Cause they’re built of sounds and letters,
Not my heartbeat, not the night,
Not the ache that fills my veins every second we’re apart,
They’re just movements that my tongue makes when it listens to my heart.