#jaycup

(One) A lot of the boys I know call me the princess of leading people on, and I let them. For the most part it's true. Nobody has held my interest for much longer than three weeks as of late. (Two) You held my interest for two years and counting. (Three) When you left I told you I was scared that I would never find anybody else who was as good for me as you are. You told me if I thought that way it was only ever bound to come true. You told me it'd be easy for me to meet someone who made me feel the way you do. (Four) Sometimes I think I'm starting over. I meet someone and I don't see you in his smile or hear you in his laughter, and I see that as a great sign until I taste you in his kiss. (Five) Sometimes the kisses that don't taste like you are even scarier than the ones that do. (Seven) I still sleep in your clothes. (Eight) I skipped number six because that's how many days till the next time I see you and I don't want to jinx the number by writing something depressing. (Nine) Your playlists on Spotify are full of songs about girls with my name, and if I knew any songs about boys with your name, mine would be full of those. Instead I listen to songs that we sang in your bedroom, with your guitar and my harmonies. (Ten) No romanticism, there are days when I really just miss fucking you. (Eleven) I've cried over you at least once every day this week except Tuesday. (Twelve) Every time something happy or sad or even remotely out of the ordinary happens to me, you're the first one I want to tell. (Thirteen) Right now you're at a bar with your friends and I'm lying awake playing with the bracelet you gave me when you told me I wasn't allowed to forget about you. I haven't. I didn't tell you not to forget about me. I wonder if you will soon. (Fourteen) The bracelet on my other wrist is from you, too. It's in the shape of the symbol for the Egyptian goddess of sinners but nothing I ever did when I was with you felt like a sin. (Fifteen) On mornings when the sun doesn't come up I think about coffeeshops and how we've taken each other to all our favorites. When I miss you enough I can still taste that coffee. On evenings when I walk to my car late at night I think about a year ago when I carried your bags to your car and you told me you didn't want to be without me anymore. When I miss you enough I can still taste that first kiss that brought us back together. Sometimes I wonder if you ever still go there in your mind. Part of me hopes maybe we'll find each other again in that place sometime soon.