Here

Here’s a street in Verona that the tour guides never showed you

As they fed you their sugar-coated, hallmark, shortbread version of ‘love.’

Here’s a dead end when you just want to get home and aren’t sure where that is anymore.

Here’s no man’s land.

No speed limits, no exit signs,

Just screams echoing down the motorway,

Red-handed on the gearstick,

Shell-shocked in the headlights,

Shadow concealing half of you, the moon a spotlight on your chest.

Here’s a song neither of you wanted to hear, here’s the hard gravel beneath the wheels that doesn’t care that you’re crying.

Jesus, take the wheel – we’re spinning out of control.

The problem with Wonderland is that once you leave, it becomes so damn hard to find.

Here’s the part of the journey the films didn’t tell you about.

Here’s losing sight of the destination and learning to unlove the ride.

Here is a crossroads, the place where the white and grey clouds meet and we have to get our heads out of them and recognise that our love has become roadkill.

Here is a dark place filled with empty words with a vodka taste, and eggshells everywhere.

Here is not knowing our way around each other anymore.

Here is not knowing how we ended up here at all.