I could blame society, like everyone else, maybe we should have never been a thing or met.
I could blame myself for being such a pussy, I never even tried to find you again, I only kept my phone number, because I was still waiting.
Or I could blame you, but I had no reason.
I still love you, even though my heart is still aching, little scars all over it from all the times I pronounced your name infront of my mirror, because I loved to hear it out loud.
I felt like moving on, just then my phone rang.
Thank you for calling me.
You're twenty-one by now, I'm almost turning thrity, can you believe?
You're crying and telling me how much you missed me, you lost my number you silly girl.
You were always thinking about me, just like I did.
