you play your old song for me when you're with her and
put your cigarette between her smiling lips just like you'd always do
it was foolish to believe that you loved me like that
but sometimes it was just nice to pretend
i know that she loves you how you should be loved and
she loves the way coffee makes you sing and she doesn't mind when
you come home with knuckles caked in blood from
exorcising (i mean, exercising) every night
she's not scared of you or scared to let go when my palms
are blistered from holding on but i guess we'll always have the cold
winter nights when you'd sleep in my car because
you were too drunk to drive yourself home
and i know that she ***** you how you want to be ******
when i could never begin to hold you close or break you like that but
she gets the mornings i can only dream of having:
waking to cigarettes and coffee beside her bed
alternative title: "the story of you and me."
inspired by brand new's "sink."
wrote the bones on 06/25/2020 but finished 10/01/2020.
it's one of the only things left unfinished that i ever went back to.
take that as you will.
i remember the moment
where it all came into focus
after a night of drunken kisses
and lipstick stains
on your autumn sweater.
i told myself this was it
the chance to finish what we started
yet you stood infront of me
eyes casting shadows,
explaining that our stolen embrace
was an impromptu mistake
meaning that to you
we were a blinding moment
and to me, we were the sun.
- this ******* heart will never learn.