Remembered I could post writing on here :)
She use to be imperfect, when I could look at her closely. I could see her pores, where her eyes werenât all one color. But far away sheâs an angel; itâs getting harder to remember that i knew her.
Maybe sheâll call me tomorrow. Tell me sheâs sorry and she knows I miss her. Iâll get in her car and maybe weâll kiss like i always use to want. We can pretend I didnât feel what i felt, and she didnât say what she said.
Iâll pretend I didnât know what she meant; that I donât know her better than she knows herself. Maybe iâm just conceited, or obsessed.
I know itâs not all about us.











