He picks you up at a quarter to three, driving his 1965 white Mustang convertible, wearing old-style sunglasses, a sleazy smile and a cigarette on his lips. He asks you if you want to stop for something to eat, then you and him are driving around, drunk, doing this over and over again.

You can never stop, you want to have fun, every night, and Lando knows it, he never treated you like a girl who could sleep. And every time he said he was leaving, you just smiled, because you already knew.

“Hey, you know I got nothin' under this overcoat…” you said in an attempt to keep him with you for a few more minutes.

You were in love with him, with the feeling he brought you, the adrenaline and the nostalgia. But you knew you shouldn't, he wasn't that kind of guy, as much as he loved having you around, he never let you in.

“Look at us, you and me, back at here again…” you said, observing the city, the two of you at the top of the biggest hill of Monaco, standing inside the car, Beatles playing, the scented candle bringing light to the car.

“It’s beautiful here” he murmured, looking at the place.

"How are you?" you asked, looking at him, seeing his sideways smile.

“Tired… tired of everything, I just… I just wanted someone…” he said and you swallowed hard, you wanted to scream, say you were there, beg him to let the light in, for you to come in.

You loved loving him and hated having to hate him.

He wanted to want you, he needed to need you, but people don't always rule with their hearts. Loving the right person and letting them in wasn't always the best.