One could say a cliché is a true experience. When things are good, not necessarily pure but rightfully true and dear, why break the mold that we fit so nicely into. Split an atom in two, just like a heartbreak. A heart aching, split in two, a perfect view for a couple that has found their other half, the break leads to a heart that binds with the tide, depression which at once was on the rise but now subsides as the two, hand in hand, ride into the sunset on a steel horse day and night, chrome plated armor to shield the shade of the trees and sting of the bees, leaving room to breathe for the cool rush of the breeze. The rush of adrenaline hits fast at the start, and then steeps leaving the perfect two at ease with a nice view from the tips of the trees, the very accented ascent of the peak. With this view comes perspective and clarity, good vibrations and great clichés, and next comes rolling together in the city on subways, waiting in train stations, and eating nice entrees like every day. The creek, the clouds, the roads, the bends, the smoke and benz, steers the two and two's friends to wherever the road might twist and turn, with the rubber fully burnt, but not exhausted. Satisfied with the enchantments of another days idleness or another days work, the two keep on moving down the line, keep grinding a day at a time, one cute girl, one nice guy, a boy at heart without the arrogance or pride, not afraid of a little spotlight, making love at twilight, waking up only when the timing is right, powder twinkling on their windshield as they drive, river spinning, stars collide, head on straight, ecstasy at moon's sight, a delight for sore eyes. The two of them, adventuring with the best of them, done with a journey, but forever glued together because of crossed paths, formed by the mirror images of lines formed from the cracked glass of broken hearts long ago.
