I still think of you.

And how bright your hair was when you were recalling the terrible date you had last night. The guy wouldn’t stop putting himself down. “Someone’s insecure”, I said. You agreed. I only knew because I used to do the same thing (but I didn’t tell you that).

You wouldn’t stop biting your lower lip — how I wanted to stop that fidget with a kiss — and flipping that golden wave back over your head with clumsy little fingers.

As wrong as we were for each other, I still wanted to give it a try. To see what it would be like to sing with you in your car, even if you thought listening to rock gave you an edge cause you were such a girly-girl. To find out if you could ever love me as much as you love yourself.

I never asked you out cause I was too proud to make the first move. In this phase where I was tired of being the one to make the effort. Probably for the best. You’d never believe that I avoid you as much as you me. Did you ever tell him why you don’t come around anymore?

I still think of you. Then again, I think about pretty much everyone who’s been in my life from time to time, in some capacity.

You’re the only one I hate thinking of.

Leave a Reply