Terminal Love
You can drive my car if you want to
I'll be sitting in the back seat heating up pop-tarts
You can go out to bars if you want to
I'll be lying on the front porch reading your Cosmo[1]
You can fly as far as you want to
I'll be waiting for you at gate 27C[2]
I got a bad case of terminal love
I gotta run back into your runway arms
I gotta stay inside your radar range
So I can listen to the way you carry on
You can turn up the bass if you want to
I'll be writing the bridge with my headphones on
You can make up your face if you want to
I'll be out eating cheeseburgers with Kate Moss[3]
You can pick up the pace if you want to
I'll be skipping right behind you like Pepe Le Pew[4]
You wish I was more like Gromit[5]
You think that I'm acting smurfy
You say I am just a slacker
But you know you like it when you touch down
And you see me at gate 27C
Standing with a rose in my hand
Just waiting for you
Confessions, along with the Reader's Matches section, were weekly schadenfreude reads back in the pre-smartphone days when couples would talk to each other for entertainment. Now we just text each other links to gifs of cats failing to jump. ↩︎
Pre-9/11, you could go all the way to the gate to meet your sweetheart when she came home every Friday from her east-coast consulting gig.
(↩︎
I always admired the way Pepe nonchalantly, confidently hopped after Penelope and her frantic escape sprints. ↩︎