i think i may not want to remember writing about about you in a few days or months or years and i'll try to scratch out everything i ever wrote about you but i’ll never succeed because you wrote yourself into my lips when you kissed me and you wrote yourself into my skin when you held me and into my blood when you told me you loved me and i’m never going to get rid of you not when everything about you is all over my mind, in my eyes, and in my ears and i might try to fool myself into believing that nothing is about you in a selfish attempt at pretending you never existed