It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Almost 2 years, I believe.
For 2 years I haven't stopped thinking of you.
I thought of you when I was too drunk to think of myself.
I thought of you when I was sober and trying to make my winged eyeliner even,
as if you would notice.
Don't tell me you feel the same about me.
When I saw you crack the spine of your book,
I was jealous because I wish you would do the same to me.
I wish you would pick up my words and see inside of me.
Yet, I still think every call or conversation is a new start
but only another sentence to a love that is untried and unrequited.