I’ve got a thing for white shirts and black ties. Damn you for looking so good. Advertisements
The backs of their heads. Their crisp white shirts and black ties. They all look like you.
I can’t help but dream after all these sleepless nights: Will there be an us?
Narcissist. Empath. You. Me. Was it ever love? Or just survival?
One day I woke up and realized all we had were those drunken nights.
I read the books. I cut my hair. I booked a trip to anywhere. But as I wander, I wonder what you’re doing who you’re with. And I hate myself for it, because wherever I go I am there and wherever it is you still don’t care.
Our hands intertwined, I couldn’t tell you which were his and which were mine.
Laid up in this bed for three days straight, you know I didn’t ask for this.
Some days the only thought that keeps me breathing is: “Tomorrow is new.”