Bang Bang

Love is like a shootout at dawn: whoever shoots first is to blame. The air smells of gunpowder and cola, the bull roars in the background and the fans are flashing, but it's all just a backdrop for a drawn-out "goodbye." Each "bang" sounds like an admission, each silence like an answer. She's the addiction, he's her relapse. Instead of letters, missed calls; instead of kisses, the echo of old arguments. But even thru the smoke and planes, you can hear: it's not about love, but it's still about her.