We wait for the sky to fall on our heads, and do whatever we can until it happens, to seek redemption and salvage our losses and (eventually) ourselves. Nothing more, nothing less. No love, no hate, no emotion. And most of all, no romance.

No time for holding hands, or making plans; for laughing in your face, or letting you rest on my shoulder. None of that fuck. Because we run too fast, and the rush of the wind on our faces in incomparably satisfying.

Romance, my friend, exists only if you want it to. When you see the world through naked eyes, you only see the lack of heartbeats, the pushing and shoving, and the only thing you feel is the exhaustion from the race to get there.

Nothing more, nothing less.