It’s 1:09 in the morning. I can’t sleep, haven’t been able to in months.
Now it’s 1:10 in the morning, I’ve been trying to put my thoughts together.
I wrote a song about you today, I say that like it’s not the millionth one.
When I hear your name I have flashbacks of your smile, and your eyes.
Those eyes tell a story, one even the greatest of storytellers couldn’t portray.
But I know it all by heart, well what I have left of my heart.
However, you’re not to blame for the broken heart.
I blame myself and my late realization that you were the one holding me together.
It’s been 1 year, and 5 months since we ended things.
I fear the pain has only gotten worse.
Two parts of me died when you left, an evil, never satisfied with what I have part, and the part of me my mother misses most.
If I could explain what I mean by that I would, but it seems to me it’s more than any of us may ever comprehend.
It’s 1:21 now. It’s been 1 year, 5 months and 12 minutes since I started writing this.
If only I could find the words to say.
Your mother never really liked me, then again I gave her reasons not to.
My mother still loves you, then again you gave her every reason to.
I think about you more than I should. I can’t help it, you’re everywhere.
You’re the sun when it shines down just right, you’re the flowery smell in the breeze.
You’re the quiet girl in the hallway with her headphones in.
You’re the girl singing in my gym class.
At least I see you in the things they do, but they aren’t you.
Nobody ever will be.
Sometimes we talk, I don’t know if that kills me or keeps me alive.
I look at your pictures every day.
There’s 22 I’m too afraid to delete on my phone because i’m sure you’ve deleted yours and I don’t want them gone forever.
I can describe them all in detail.
Sometimes I interlock my fingers and squeeze them together like we did to each other when we held hands.
That sounds absolutely pathetic. But none the less I still do it.
My friends told me I talk about you in my sleep.
I dream about you often, 50% of the time I’m awake when I do.
I still text you names of songs that remind me of you or that I think you would like.
Most of those songs make me cry.
That also sounds pathetic.
It’s 1:45 in the morning, I still can’t sleep.
Now I have been writing this for 1 year, 5 months and 36 minutes.
I don’t think I’ll ever be finished.
I still love you.