#drunk notes app

And I remember all the things you used to tell me.

“The traffic sucks”

Now I know

“The ice cream by the beach is the best

Now I know where you got it”

“Its always sunny here, you would love the weather”

Now I get it

I still don’t get why you stopped talking to me that January morning, it was cold yet I felt so warm talking to you. We dedicated a season talking. In theory nothing. A night that should’ve ended after a kiss lasted three months. When we reunited, It was as if time hadn’t past. Our jokes were still our jokes. Our memories though few were still ours. I don’t why I’m so still so hung up on you. It was deeper than the kiss we shared. It was getting to know you. Getting a glimpse of what we could be.

It brings a certain shame to know you so intimately. When my friends bring something up about you and I know the answer. To know a joke you would laugh at. To go to send you something but then remembering you won’t even open the message.

It brings a certain shame to post and wonder if you saw it. To know if you saw it. Did you see me repost? Did you see my story? Did you think I looked hot in that last grid post? To a certain extent what I post will always be curated to your eye, wondering the day your gaze will be drawn back to me.

The logical part of my brain knows this is over. The hopeful side of my heart longs for the day you’ll see something that reignites the need to send me something. I want a sign of life. Nay NEED a sign. I need to know we’re ok. I need to know I didn’t lose you. I need to know what lost you. I need to know if you have regret. I need to know if you still want me. If you ever wanted me. I need to know if all the attention pity or because you saw in me what I saw in you.

Part of my heart belongs to you. You weren’t my first love but you were my first what if? And that hurts more. The hope. The hope of you asking me out. The hope of you kissing me again.

You made me feel seen. You made me feel wanted. Now I’m just the girl who’s ‘obsessed’ with you.

Part of me feels a fool. I thought I had a chance. The worst part is I can’t bring myself to hate you. You never put a foot wrong. Even when we reunited. I guess I was your source of entertainment for bit but god was I happy to be it.

Every man who approaches me gets compared to you. Every mans touch is compared to yours. Every man’s lips who touch mine, get compared. I’ll know I found my replacement when I don’t. The terrifying part is I don’t want them to just compare to you. I want them to BE you.

It’s curious, truly, how you’ve buried your way into my heart when I’ve not even nicked yours.