It surprises me,
how many times you still visit my thoughts.
I must have loved you.
Your stupid, arrogant talks,
as if you knew everything about **** and training.
Your white-trash romance,
that time you stood in front of my house,
a picked flower in one hand
a stolen tray of sushi in the other.
I loved the idea of us.
Teenage love, strong and
I know now, also short.
Our first **** on too much speed,
your friend in the same room
passed out and puking.
I didn't mind us fighting,
though I would have never admitted.
Familiar,
suitable for the Bonnie and Clyde thing
I wanted.
I liked waiting for you
worried
when you went out to paint at night.

But then, we went from trailer trash lovers
to bits of things we used to do,
in less than a second.