"i wrote a song once," he muttered as we sat on the roof of a building that seemed quite sentimental to him. his head was laying on my lap as i looked out over the horizon, he was looking up at me but...

miles was in a different world, my guitar sitting in his lap as he strummed meaningless fragments of hit songs from the decade.

"oh really? what was it about?" i asked, raking my hands through his hair, he was high. he wouldn't have told me anything about her if he wasn't.

looking down at him, i admired his beauty; i could see the pain in his eyes before he closed them, the little indent on his chin jumping when he frowned, "a girl in distressed jeans."

i looked down at my outfit of black leggings and a big oversized tan jacket; i didn't wear distressed jeans.

"who...who is she?"