It’s not right to force it. Don’t try to fabricate a story. We are who we are.
We met up. We made out. We said goodbye at some point.
That was that. She’s just that girl. I am just that guy.
Coastlines used to steal all our nights.
French kissing was not vulgar. It was hella tight.
Cuddling wasn’t a necessity. It was a commodity.
Luring them in with a margarita wasn’t crucial.
Just leave that up to the volcano exploding sunsets.
She couldn’t explain it. Neither could I.
We are who we are.
We watched the sunset intertwined, and that was Cali.
I still have the souvenirs.