I don't know why I'm telling you this
I suppose you were my best friend
and since I left you, I have no one to tell about my trials and tribulations
and it's hard.
It's been five months and I thought I'd find someone else or I'd get over this
but it's just not happening.
I sit at my dates wishing they were you
and that we were five drinks in and you were doing cartwheels in the carpark
in your sundress and converses.
When I die, I'd like to think we just relive our happiest memories.
Mine would be of you and me fucking and laughing and drinking. Existing is no longer enough.
Going to the hill that looks over the valley and the city, drinking cider and smoking cigarettes.
I've forgotten what the point of this was.
Since I left, I've had hangovers they could name battleships over.
I just miss laying in bed and playing with your red hair.
I'm sorry I Ieft. I regret it everyday. What I can't work out, is since I have left you, why I'm still about.