I've always thought that I would be the one to write my own eulogy and keep it hidden in the back of my drawer so that when you see my name in the obituaries you won't need to worry about having to pretend you care. I'll write my eulogy for you. I'll talk about all the things you wished you could of told me before you ran off without warning, I'll write about how my love was a state of mind and all you wanted to do was blow your head off. I'll write about how you never really knew how to love me because all your life you were taught about the birds and the bees and never learnt about the significance of butterflies till everything you loved finally became everything you lost. I'll write my eulogy for you, I'll write about how the walls you built to shut me out we're decorated with us in picture frames, and no alcohol could consume you enough and give you a motive to take them down. I'll write about how maybe you thought the timing was wrong, the place was wrong, the motives were wrong but how you have never experienced a love so right. And maybe I wasn't always your cup of tea but I can bet anything that after the tenth shot of ***** your body was numb and your skin craved my fingers enough that you settled for the girl in your bed who's name, to this day you still don't know. I'll write my eulogy for you, I'll write about how for the past eight years you watched the sunset and talked to me from a different rooftop. And that even when it set it took you a while to get up and go to bed because you missed the feeling of watching me waiting in your sheets. I'll write my eulogy for you. I'll write about how you're sorry. Because the only thing different about you and a setting sun, is that the sun always came back.