two months.
two months means nothing right?
I told her our two months was coming up,
and she looked at me like I was stupid.
'its kids play, its like a game of house. youll love him now but grow out of it.'
but I know I wont.
I waited a year,
I watched you flirt, hug, date, and crush.
but you always picked the wrong girl, even I could've told you that.
You picked the clarinet player instead of the percussion.
the percussion girl treated you with more respect,
you and her would sit at my lunch table and whisper silently to eachother.
it should've been her.
But you say you picked the wrong girl,
and at first I agreed thinking you meant the girl who could play the drums,
she could play guitar too.
but you meant me,
the girl who would laugh so hard milk would come out of her nose.
thats how you remembered me.
so when you say you picked the wrong girl I remind you.
I remind you that you didnt know the real me, you only knew what how I acted,
how I acted in a room full of people.
Once you met me for the second time,
you met the older girl, the girl who had been through so much,
but yet survived it all.
z.l.
