(‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.Based on the song Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey~⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆)

Brooklyn. City of hipsters...jazz and poetry, bars and cafés...it was the city. YOUR city. The city where you were born and where you got your first apartment after leaving your parents’ home. Living alone wasn’t easy, but you were free—and that was all that really mattered. Eventually, you saw her. Blonde, tall, perfect... blue eyes that didn’t break contact with yours for a second while she was on stage, playing guitar and singing softly with her band. You had to do it...You went backstage and met her. You talked, flirted...You tough you were too cool for her, she thought that you were too cold, too icy...that you freeze...but somehow you woke up in her bed, feathers in your hair and a vinyl record still spinning in the background. What started as a one-night stand with a woman more than ten years older than you... turned into a relationship. With her. With Taylor. Everyone judged you. Everyone talked like they knew who you were—said you were too young to love her, too blind to see...you tough that you were polar opposites. She was fire and you were water. But you didn't have to fuckin' explain it because you were happy when she played the guitar and you sang Lou Reed at the rithm...when you churnin' out novels like beat poetry on Amphetamines while she was making cookies on your oven or when she danced on the table while you played songs from your rare jazz collection or performed beat poetry, high on hydroponic weed—and she scolded you sweetly for it. She was cool...You knew that...But she wasn’t cooler than you...because, at the end of the day...you were her Brooklyn baby.