I wanted to be a writer, that’s all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way those flowers looked when you carried them in your arms, this towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine, the history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it’s all mixed up now. And I failed, I failed. No matter what you start with, it ends up being so much less.
Richard - The Hours (2002)

In a foreign place, the saving grace was the feeling,
That it was a heart that he was stealing,
Oh he was ready to impress and the fierce excitement,
The eyes are bright he couldnt wait to get away,
I bet the juliet was just the icing on the cake,
Make no mistake no,

And even if somehow we could have shown you the place you wanted,

Well I’m sure you could have made it that bit better on your own,
And I bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch,
Well all the little promises they dont mean much,
When theres memories to be made,
And I hope you’re holding hands by new years eve,
They made it far too easy to believe,
That true romance cant be acheived these days,

And even if somebody could have shown you the place you wanted,
Well I sure you could have made it that bit better on your own,
You are the only ones who know