I don’t think about you anymore, I don’t think about you anyless


 

She was a lover of the city, of the lights, music, liveliness, its people and a very special one in particular…They would meet at the usual café, wine in hand with a smile and a singular flower between them often. The days, hours, minutes, seconds had drifted away and their ritual had become that of another. She reminisces, wine in hand with a bittersweet smile and as she submerged deeper into the warm bath she had drawn, her thoughts too began to drift away just as they had become strangers sometime ago.

And old woman sitting in an armchair with a glass of wine staring at the pouring rain on the other side of the window.

The falling drops carry her far away to memories she never made, to a life she never lived.

The music ends and she is an old woman again with memories she made in a life she lived for many years.

The first part of it, “I Don’t Think About You Anymore”, if it was alone, would mean that the speaker has stopped thinking about the person in question. That implies that the person in question no longer means anything to the speaker, and has no more emotional attachment to him/her. But when that was added to the second part of the phrase, ” But I Don’t Think About You Any Less”, it changed the meaning of the first phrase to mean that the speaker is actually STILL thinking about the person in question, and wishes they weren’t. Perfect phrase for a premature breakup. Sorry that this is a long answer >.<

This song makes me feel like I’m lost in a meadow with many flowers, the sky is dark but the sun doesn’t go away…I’m just like the girl in the picture, but It makes me feel sad with no reason…I feels this song, and feels same pain as she wants to transmit. It’s just like you thinking about your life but it doesn’t important anymore because you’re feel like you’re already dead… It’s like you living this feeling before…

A lone man sat in a worn wooden chair, a glass bottle in hand as the sunlight bounced around it’s reflections in the crystal liquid that inhabited this bottle of many. Ah yes, this man had been drinking for a many of days in the city of love, lost in despair of the loss of his beloved Shailene to an accident that would forever mark it’s day in history, his history, his story to be told. He was a man named Riviolo, a man with the nicest of suits and canes that fit his fancy, a man with elegance and charm. Riviolo was a man to look up to, for he’d accomplished many things in his life of 35 years. A fine business man, who once had the prettiest damsel locked to his arm. That is, until she was taken away.

Riviolo, could not stand to be without his beloved Shailene, and so he set foot to plan the tidiest of all suicides. He’d do it at just the right time, just the right way, and he’d do it in a way to be remembered. Oh no, he couldn’t leave a mess for his poor maids to take care of, so he planned and he planned to create the nicest of deaths, if at all possible. He got up to tidy himself up, pulling on a suit of the finest fabric, and slicked his long black hair back with a dollop of gel. He sprayed some cologne and walked into the mist, then set about to pulling on a pair of white leather gloves. Now, the time was just right. And so, Riviolo sat down in his red velvet chair and propped his legs up, cigar in hand as a record spun. A silver pistol sat on the table beside him, the light bouncing off it’s slick surface. The time, was now. With a flick of his finger, the cigar tumbled to the ground and he swiftly grabbed the pistol to his side.

Ever so slowly, the barrel of the gun was placed to his temple and loaded. “Shailene, I don’t think about you anymore, I don’t think about you anyless. For our love will truly.. be endless.”

And he pulled the trigger.

 

 

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