I once was in love with a boy who smoked cigarettes, he had his own car and two jobs, and his hair was almost always a mess. He didn't really like breakfast and he over drank all the time but said he was fine. His diet was mostly fast food, I was sure beer and fry grease ran through his veins. He never understood why I cried and never understood why I kissed him so much.
The feeling of riding shotgun in your car isn't a memorable feeling. Less than Stopping at all the shops we used to visit again, once hand in hand now three feet apart. Watching the moon set over the mountains at seven in the morning, with a broken bone, a broken heart, and a cigarette lit between my numb fingers. If past lovers are lessons, I learned yours the hardest. Your brown eyed girl now has a fire in her eyes. I will use it to keep him warm.
The lack of love you gave me will, in the end, haunt you, not me.