Disclaimerr: don't own. :P
White tank top, black bra. Her favorite jeans, no underwear. Newly blonde hair framing a newly awakened face. Eyeliner. No smile, she didn't need one today. Guitar, check. Tattered notebook, check. Hole in her heart, check.
This was her and Tommy's day. Their songwriting day. She needed a record-breaking hit, he insisted. He could help her. So he told her he was going to rent a car for her to drive, and that she was going to go south until she found somewhere that inspired her. And they were going to write. She grinned at him, elbowed him in the ribs. And he stopped smiling, and said that all they were going to be doing was writing. And he turned and walked away.
save some face, you know you've only got one...change your ways while you're young.
So, Jude drove. For 15 minutes, An hour. Stopped in the parking lot of a playground. Practically dove for her guitar and ran to the swings as fast as she could. Tommy, bewildered (for once) grabbed her notebook and walked after her. Sat on the swing next to her. He watched her genius come to life, watched the tears slip down her cheeks. Wanted to kiss her like the sun wants to make you squint. It was a natural urge. So he got up, threw the notebook at Jude's feet, and walked to the car. He wasn't needed. He didn't need to feel like this about a child.
i'm sweating out excuses that would make your stomach churn.
He watched her for hours. Watched her cry, watched her puzzle out the chords and lyrics that were living in her soul. He watched her scream and sob and pace around. He knew, of course, that she was pining away. That all she wanted was the missing piece of her mind. He was it, he knew. She was his.
you were the summer of my life
The sun was setting. Her hair was lit with the faded gold color in the clouds, making her look like a mystical creature. Highlighting her beauty. She stooped over, picked up her notebook and guitar. Stretched. Turned around, and there he was. Black leather jacket, seemingly soaking up the last rays of the sun. He tenderly took her guitar and notebook, and tenderly set them on the hood of the car. Turned to face her, and touched her cheek. Felt her shiver, then closed the gap between their lips.
sixteen, olive. bound by a voice. i don't want to go but i want it, well at least you fucking care...i want to watch you buttercup coming through the fog.