Recycled words, blistering cold from the four shots I never drank
Reflection of teenage angst and heart break fog up my windows
But you being away never bothered me anyways
Wait....
Maybe I lied a little
Maybe just maybe, I still read your letters on a Tuesday morning with the scent of burnt toast cloaking the house
Maybe I still find your underwear at the bottom of my laundry basket or the words you wrote for me on a crumbled up paper besides my blue waste bin
**** it and see you never know