When he saw her reading "On the Road"

I can still remember when

the most exciting thing was a book.

to read it in a moving train,

drunk of wine in the middle of nowhere, no

one to speak to,

just endless roads in a never ending world.

things change when you start to die a little

every day, 

                     wrecked and smashed around

by the tic-tac's of an unforgiving clock,

the merciless hours slipping away,

nothing but dust and ashes.

what's left of our dreams grew old, sick

and tired of waiting for any good love

or any love at all.