you play your old song for me when you're with her and put your cigarette between her smiling lips just like you'd always do it was foolish to believe that you loved me like that but sometimes it was just nice to pretend
i know that she loves you how you should be loved and she loves the way coffee makes you sing and she doesn't mind when you come home with knuckles caked in blood from exorcising (i mean, exercising) every night
she's not scared of you or scared to let go when my palms are blistered from holding on but i guess we'll always have the cold winter nights when you'd sleep in my car because you were too drunk to drive yourself home
and i know that she ***** you how you want to be ****** when i could never begin to hold you close or break you like that but she gets the mornings i can only dream of having: waking to cigarettes and coffee beside her bed
alternative title: "the story of you and me."
inspired by brand new's "sink." wrote the bones on 06/25/2020 but finished 10/01/2020. it's one of the only things left unfinished that i ever went back to. take that as you will.