'i hope she's as crazy about you as you are about her'

i wrote about last night's dream on a torn page from my notebook in the middle of spanish class, then you called me for 3 hours and i read it aloud for you, it was hilarious the crude rushed way i'd written about taking you in my hands and kissing your body parts, putting them in my mouth, how can i make it sound pretty, a ******* is always a *******
and your friend accidentally saw the ***** things i'd said to you in italian in the history of your google translate and
you and i we laughed about that for hours

sometimes i think it's all in my head and we were never actually in love at all. i hate myself because i'm even crazier than that girl you kissed (kelsie, i never said her name out loud) when you were drunk and missing me. and you saw all the warnings, you used to call me a pyscho then say 'i love you' when you should have been turning your ******* back on me. i'm not a game to get your adrenaline going, trust me it'll be no fun waking up beside a dead girl

the sky over london
fingertips in a dark theatre
vintage clothing
november 19 - 22
a starbucks double-shot macchiato
the taste of toothpaste
canada
the sadness of missing the 7.30am snow
an empty hotel corridor
secret ***
a reflection (in a camera lens, the windows of the metro, the mirror opposite your bed)
old style rap
a hand to hold in an ice-skating rink
a sad boy
the only ******* thing i can think of

why am i taking song suggestions from a boy who doesn't play any instruments and thinks my favourite music sounds 'cheap'

i can't find prettiness in his face anymore,
my phone storage is full so i deleted your saved selfies from my camera roll. i wish that one photo of us had never been taken at that party, where our heads rest on each other and i'm smiling like an idiot because everything was so simple with you
i hate you for trusting me. you're a ******* fool if you think people change, i haven't, i won't. 'i trust you not to touch,' you said when i told you about an ex-lover of mine i wanted to see. i don't even trust myself, what is wrong with you
there's nothing comforting in the sound of your voice, don't trust myself on the phone with you (i can't tell you what i did, i need you to learn to hate me without ever finding out). every murmur of 'i love you', the lyrics to my favourite song, after being on repeat for 4 months i need to burn that cd, get the sound out of my ******* head. i'm sick of it, sick of him, utterly sickened by myself. look at me - writing about 'him' and 'you', both the same person but i can't ******* tell anymore. you're not mine anymore
i lost more at that airport than just my make-up and shampoo

i had a dream where a girl ate me out and then we smoked **** - or maybe it was the other way around - and it was almost good enough to convince myself to catch a train to see a boy living 3 hours away so we could finish what we started