she comes home in the middle of the night
and i help her take her shoes off.
she can't walk in heels,
but in the glow of the night life,
she becomes someone else.
for once
in her life
she is
no one
but herself.
and a boy will buy her a drink,
take her home.
but she is so gone,
because even when she is with him,
she is thinking of a lost boy.
she is thinking of a boy in a coffee shop, smoking all his problems away.
a boy with dreams when they met,
that slowly faded into ash and dust,
nothing now but hazy memories.
she can still remember his eyes,
blue and bright.
now,
they are so dark
she can't even tell their color.
they could be black
and she wouldn't
even
know.
every day, they said "get over him"
every day, they said "he is nothing but trouble"
every day, they said "he will only break your heart"
every day, she said "you don't know him like i do"
and then, after, they said "i told you so"
and she said "you don't know him like i did"
so even when he is kissing her shoulder and i am in the other room,
counting the creaks of the bed
she is thinking of the summer they fell in love.
maybe it was his i-don't-give-a-**** attitude,
maybe it was the attraction of rebellion,
but he changed everything
and she swore she'd never been so in love.
and then, when it was over,
when all the caps that they'd thrown into the air were all cleaned up by the janitor,
we went to new york city
and she reinvented herself.
she packed up one box,
and got the hell out of that town.
she hasn't missed one thing that she left behind,
didn't regret one moment,
except for him.
and so, when they were done,
he put his clothes back on
and left her there in her own bed, lonelier than before.
i had to go in and place the advil on the table,
for the hangover the next morning,
that would be there just like the sureness of the sun rising.
and i was the one
who tucked her in at night
while she was passed out,
and mumbling his name.