Work Text:
Dusty sand rolling over my toes
Dry air sticking to my throat
He stands there like a god in wolf's clothing
There is no tired, pensive audience
No one to perform for
Just the lazy setting sun reflecting off his eyes
I don't want to say goodbye
But there's two roads in front of me
And they're both one-way tickets won by a coin toss
I've never been much of a gambling man
His head tilts down so I can no longer feel his gaze
It's against the rules, but we were never rule followers anyway
Maybe he hoped I wouldn't see the drop of liquid silver run down his cheek