I don’t think about us too often anymore
I don’t think about the night at the clubhouse where I dared you to kiss me
I don’t think about the nights we stayed up late in my living room while my mom was on vacation
I don’t think about how we were up late waiting together, pacing, waiting for our SAT scores to come out
I don’t think about the adventures on the beach and the party at your house where I almost lost my virginity to your best friend
I don’t think about how I was always your second choice next to her
I don’t think about the times we visited college campuses together and you cried in my arms on the pier in St. Augustine
I don’t think about how we got drunk on four lokos and had *** even though your mom was in the next room
I don’t think about how we didn’t talk for two years when you left for college and moved away from me
I don’t think about how when you came back to visit we met up in the mid afternoons for summery, hot, sweaty hook ups
I don’t think about when we would roll down the windows in my bedroom and get high at 1 in the morning
I don’t think about how we grew up and still ended up meeting up years later to connect
I don't think about how we were mid twenties and still harbored so much love for each other
I don’t think about none of that, no not at all
But I get a taste of that fiery and ****** cinnamon flavored Fireball and it all comes rushing back like a punch in my face