You ended up here, you after doing some good things in magazines, him after giving all he could to the financial services industry. Both of you had ideas and plans and predictions and this town never entered into any of those things.
“That’s what makes it seem so fated,” he says through a bed sheet.
In this bed, in this apartment, on this street, in this town of all places, “Every choice we made brought us here,” he insists.
“So did every mistake, every accident, every time we decided to say fuck it I don’t care anymore we let ourselves get swept a little closer together.”
You say you’re just refuse that happened to get whisked into the same dustpan but he says you’re star-crossed lovers and the universe applauds every time you kiss, but the arguing doesn’t change the fact that you’re in this bed, you’re in this town, whether you searched for it or tumbled blind from the trunk of a speeding car on Main Street, whether you finally arrived or this is just where you ended up, you’re both here and your plans and predictions say you’ll both stay here till the end. And it doesn’t really matter if that’s just because neither of you has anyplace else to go.
Happy In This Town Day!