I'm not interested in the mere existence of your being.
Not even in the way you have every sovereign to replace me with who's better. I used to be close to you, you even claimed I was the closest and now my coat fits someone else way better than it did with me. So I gathered my cigarettes, grabbed my golden lighter and well, it wasn't just the coat I burned.
It was the coat.
The sofa we chatted on.
The house we roamed.
The street we got drunk on.
The lines of memories we tied each other's neck to.
Every single page of our story.
And you.
Go fuck yourself.
