I met him at a party
The late night buzz and low lights
The blaring music and loose dancing
All shrouded in a fog of assorted drugs.
I met him at a party,
And he wrote his 10 numbers
On the back of my small hand.
I remember his smirk and
the way he said Call me.
He disappeared into the fog,
and is still awaiting a call
from that girl he met at a party.

It was late when I stumbled home,
Pepermint gum trying to hide
the harsh alcohol in my breath.
I came home and saw his number,
and for some reason,
thought it was yours.
I crawled through the haze of my house,
trying to find my room, my bed.
I snaked under the blankets,
and for some reason,
thought you were laying beside me.
I've never slept so soundly in my life.

By morning, my parents are asking questions,
but all I can see is his number on my hand.
I thought to myself
Now's my chance to start over,
to love someone new,
to forget the past.
I cried --
for joy or sadness, I'll never know.
Those tears fell onto his number,
and with a flick of my thumb,
it was gone.