In the middle of the night
Did you think I'd be alone
Did you think I'd be alone
Matéo couldn't imagine forgetting how the waves lapped against the posts of the dock, sun setting on the horizon that sent fractals of broken citrine along the surface of the water. There hadn't been a day that had gone by during his thirty years of life that he wasn't woken up by the screaming of gulls above his abode and a fine layer of salt coating anything left outside by the sea. "Tell me about your home." While he doesn't mean to demand it, he hardly poses it as a question either. "If you had no sea, then what did you have?"
Harper's next words following his actions give Matéo pause. He'd always assumed that wine was a sipping drink, but perhaps it was different where Harper was from. It was better to assume that than the alternatives, which he can't help but tease at with a raised brow as he brings his drink to his lips to sip at. "I thought it was until you seemed in such a hurry to finish your drink. Are my tales of the sea too slow for you, Harper?" Sure, it was a reach; after all, he'd much rather hear Harper speak of himself than talk of days that blended together from one day to the next.
Waiting patiently for you
to come home
to come home
