All The Versions

First time I saw her— black dress,

straight face, glass on the table like she owned the fucking place.

Look again— She's laughing too loud,

shoes kicked off, telling the bartender: “Make another.” Okay.

Which one are you?

EVERY TIME YOU LOOK— I'M SOMEBODY NEW.

Sweet for a minute,

then I'm trouble for two.

You keep trying to decide which one's really me— Baby,

quit counting.

THEY'RE ALL ME.

Next beat— Restaurant disappears.

Now we're somewhere loud.

She's dancing on the table.

Beat hits—

Midnight beach.

Same chair. Same woman.

She's drinking red wine like this is completely normal.

Next beat—

Penthouse.

She looks expensive. Next—

Shitty diner. She's stealing fries off my fucking plate.

( “You gonna eat those?”)

( “Apparently not.”)

EVERY TIME YOU LOOK— I'M SOMEBODY NEW.

Good girl, bad idea,

depends on the view.

You want one clean answer?

That's cute.

Keep looking. I got more than two.

Monday she's elegant. Tuesday she's chaos.

Wednesday she texts: “Don't call me.” Thursday: “Where the fuck are you?”

Friday she's dancing. Saturday furious.

Sunday morning? Sunglasses. Coffee.

No explanation.

I finally ask: “So which one is actually you?”

( “All of 'em.”) ( “That's inconvenient.”)

( “For you.”) EVERY TIME YOU LOOK— I'M SOMEBODY NEW!

( Every damn version

got something to prove!) ( Elegant—) ( Dangerous.) ( Sweet—) ( Occasionally.)

( Quit trying to figure me out!) ( Wasn't

planning on it.) ( Liar.)

“So who are you tonight?”

( “Look again.”)