Now and then she re-reads the manuscript
Of the entire torrid affair
They compared their licenses, he said: I’m not a donor, but
I’d give you my heart if you needed it
She rolled her eyes and said: You’re a professional
He said: No, just a good samaritan
He said that if the sex was half as good as the conversation was
Soon they’d be pushin’ strollers
But soon it was over
In the age of him, she wished she was thirty
And made coffee every morning in a Frеnch press
Afterwards, she only atе kids’ cereal
And couldn’t sleep unless it was in her mother’s bed
Then she dated boys who were her own age
With dartboards on the backs of their doors
She thought about how he said since she was so wise beyond her years
Everything had been above board
She wasn’t sure
And the years passed like scenes of a show
The professor said to write what you know
Lookin’ backwards, might be the only way to move forward
Then the actors were hitting their marks
And the slow dance was alight with the sparks
And the tears fell in synchronicity with the score
And at last, she knew what the agony had been for
The only thing that’s left is the manuscript
One last souvenir from my trip to your shores
Now and then I re-read the manuscript
But the story isn’t mine anymore
