You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because Iapos;m not who I used to be. No longer easy on the eyes, but these wrinkles masterfully disguise the youthful boy below who turned your way and saw something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end. But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize when he catches his reflection on accident. On the back of a motor bike with your arms outstretched trying to take flight, leaving everything behind. But even at our swiftest speed, we couldnapos;t break from the concrete in the city where we still reside. And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides like brothers on a hotel bed. You may tire of me as our December sun is setting and Iapos;m not who I�used to be.
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