we were on the different sides in a war.
i was captured and you were guarding me.
i took it was out of a compassion, hence..
we were something more, than friends then.
we got mingled, got every day for a new fight.
that scar, you bruised on my hand with knife, i keep it.
we ended it, i could have no more and you left. long.
i got married. twice. got divorced. a couple of times.
got myself something catchy, i could call happiness.
we became friends again, i saw you through the glass.
there were always three of us, when the sky was falling.
my favorite brother, myself and you. three best friends.
we could not keep it. we were younger. i became loose.
got myself that only social status, that prevented all of it.

four years have passed.
i saw you on the crossroad. you were perfect like hell.
beautiful (it takes me sometimes, you have better looks..)
matured, strong. and after all you still kept that door to knock.
you loved me still. and i still remembered those feelings.

you matured well, prince.
like one of those, who were born to be high.
good manners, good looks, good judgements.
always first to protect and first to break others face.w

i could not fight it, you know.
it just felt so freaking right to say yes on that altar.

it takes so much pride on you to share that history, nah.
it takes the same on me, too.