You’ll talk to AM again. You tried to talk to CD. Part of me hopes I’m next.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been seeing you everywhere again. Maybe that’s why I can smell you almost everywhere I go. I haven’t talked to you in a months. I haven’t hugged you in year. I shouldn’t even remember what you smell like, what your eyes look like when you smile; I shouldn’t remember how peaceful and safe I felt with you.
I moved on. I know I can live without you. But secretly I hope, I pray, I wish, that you’d talk to me again. You’ll talk to AM, although I’m glad you’re acknowledging your friends again, it gives me false hope that I don’t want.
Why did this have to happen in the first place? We shouldn’t have turned out like this in the first place.