Rambling I'll probably delete in the morning
So I was wearing a shirt today
A shirt that you ripped off me months after we were done dating
A shirt you ripped off because you were so obsessed with my neck, and I let you rip off because I was so obsessed with being obsessed with you and not your best friend and not the guy I dated in high school.
I hadn't even thought about it when I put it on this morning, but I'm thinking about it now as it's late and I'm listening to your songs, the ones I sat through hours of recording of, and I'm thinking of how you texted me yesterday and how excited I was but I couldn't tell you because that would ruin it.
We wanted such different aspects of each other. I wanted your songwriting and your intimacy and your trust and your secrets and you wanted me in bed. Not that I minded you the other way, but I wanted to be your person who broke through all your fucking layers and you were just you for. And I loved listening to these songs because I felt like if I could decipher every bit it was a part of breaking through, even though I didn't need the songs then, I could get in one latte at a time.
I guess the point is, that's why I can't listen to your new album. The album I put hours of love into. Because that's all I have of your wall now. No matter how proud I am of this broken eggshell, the yolk and the white are somewhere else.
And while occasionally I miss the mornings I woke up, limbs curled around you, I really just miss our hours over starbucks discussing Apple and our dead dogs and our fucked up pasts.
A shirt that you ripped off me months after we were done dating
A shirt you ripped off because you were so obsessed with my neck, and I let you rip off because I was so obsessed with being obsessed with you and not your best friend and not the guy I dated in high school.
I hadn't even thought about it when I put it on this morning, but I'm thinking about it now as it's late and I'm listening to your songs, the ones I sat through hours of recording of, and I'm thinking of how you texted me yesterday and how excited I was but I couldn't tell you because that would ruin it.
We wanted such different aspects of each other. I wanted your songwriting and your intimacy and your trust and your secrets and you wanted me in bed. Not that I minded you the other way, but I wanted to be your person who broke through all your fucking layers and you were just you for. And I loved listening to these songs because I felt like if I could decipher every bit it was a part of breaking through, even though I didn't need the songs then, I could get in one latte at a time.
I guess the point is, that's why I can't listen to your new album. The album I put hours of love into. Because that's all I have of your wall now. No matter how proud I am of this broken eggshell, the yolk and the white are somewhere else.
And while occasionally I miss the mornings I woke up, limbs curled around you, I really just miss our hours over starbucks discussing Apple and our dead dogs and our fucked up pasts.