Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm
It exists to give you comfort, it is there to keep you warm
And in those times of trouble when you are most alone
The memory of love will bring you home
Perhaps love is like the ocean, full of conflict, full of pain
Like a fire when it’s cold outside, thunder when it rains
If I should live forever, and all my dreams come true
My memories of love will be of you
Perhaps love is like a window, perhaps an open door
It invites you to come closer, it wants to show you more
And even if you lose yourself and don’t know what to do
The memory of love will see you through
Love to some is like a cloud, to some as strong as steel
For some a way of living, for some a way to feel And some say love is holding on and some say letting go
And some say love is everything, and some say they don’t know
“…she got there and the station was empty… was dark,cold and rainy, few steps and he was standing in front of her, ”hi – hello” she was late, tired and he was far from “happy big smile face”, was he expecting something better?! She hugged him, he just hold her hand and took her to the car, on the way she tried to et out of that COOOOLD mood, with silly questions but he was more interested in TALK with his car than with her! At his place he FINALLY got closer and tried make her comfortable, but was too late… she kiss him, they spent the night together, but everything was already OVER, she could see on his face that she wasn’t what he was expecting, was a long night awake!! She woke up early, and before 11 she was ready to go home. On the way to station no words, just one “I’m sorry” when they finally got there, she had to wait 30 minutes alone for her train…
Ohhhh unlucky girl, she really thought this time could be different but NOOO… he left her high and dry, like all the others, maybe worse, coz at least the others never made the “nice boy” scene to get her in their bed!”
“All your life is such a shame,shame,shame.
All your love is just a dream, dream, dream.”
“se eu fosse uma metáfora seria mulher de marinheiro, amores transatlânticos, verbos no infinitivo, despedidas intensas e melancoliazinha. cada um, o último, e sempre sofrendo, de verdade, a cada partida, como se antes nunca houvesse outro. “
