“God, I remember so much useless information from over the years. It’s a tiny bit insane, to be quite upfront and honest with you. Like, remember how many beers we had during the first time we stayed up all night, sitting on my couch and just talking? I do. We had seventeen beers between the two of us. I’ve still got every single one of the bottle caps. And can you remember how that night ended? With a sloppy kiss that neither of us had any right to be proud of. You always did use too much tongue after a few beers. I grew to like it though, don’t worry.
And that time you took me out for ‘dinner’ at that burger joint. You know, the one that was wedged in between the florist’s with that blue sign I adored hanging outside the window and the sex shop we never had the guts to walk into whenever we passed by it, despite the fact we both knew we wanted to. That was the night you pointed out how in love you were with my smile, even though it was definitely covered in ketchup. And three days after that, I was sulking on the bus ride home from work and was greeted by a bouquet of roses, a bunch of shitty tea-light candles and you in my room. That’s the first time either of us had ever said "I love you” to another person. Half of those candles weren’t even lit since you didn’t have enough time to light 'em all. You’re always so bad with timing.
By the way, forget the fact that I didn’t say it back straight away, if you can. I was quite shocked, after all. You know, every time you brought me coffee, whether it was Starbucks or the burnt stuff from the coffee pot in your kitchen, I remembered. I wrote it all down in the same diary I’m writing this in. 276 cups of coffee. Thinking of you still kept me up more than all those cups put together, though. Sorry, that was cheesy. I know you hate that kind of stuff.
Can you remember that night you got so drunk you couldn’t stop crying down the phone? You kept going on and on about how terrible your life was and how I was the only good thing you had left. I spent 39 dollars on a cab 19 minutes and 34 seconds after that phone call. My eyes were glued to my watch, I couldn’t help it. You passed out in my arms that night. You didn’t remember all the crying, but being the “little spoon” certainly put a stain on your manhood in the morning, at least in your mind. I had coffee #138 that morning. Burnt to hell, but I didn’t mind.
You did the same thing two weeks later, but I didn’t have to spare any expense in getting a cab that time, you were already over for the night. I really felt that I was the only “good” thing you had left. I didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or miserable at that fact. Having sex with you that night felt a lot different. It felt as if you were really trying to convince me to stick around, yet it didn’t seem that the same person I had always known was inside me that night. By God, you were on your game, though.
One of the fondest memories I have of me and you is the night you drove round to my place in your dad’s car and we went to those cliffs overlooking the beach. You had a picnic basket, blankets, candles; everything. You got me into smoking that night. We must have smoked a full pack between the two of us and I’m pretty sure my throat never fully recovered from it. I remember how every time you threw your cigarette butts over the edge of the cliff, I felt sick to my stomach thinking you were gonna jump off after it. The stars looked absolutely amazing that night. You always gazed up at them for a solid five minutes at a time. It was like you were trying to make sure you never forgot what they looked like. You looked at me the exact same way, too. You kept telling me I was your girl and kissing my cheek.
You did it again a few days later; kissing me on each of my cheeks and telling me I meant everything to you. We spent that day under the covers in bed, playing old video games and making out while it poured it down outside. You really sucked at Ms. Pac-Man. You never did get the chance to beat my high-score. You probably couldn’t have anyway.
And later that night, after you left mine, claiming you had somewhere important to be, but in too much of a rush to tell me where, you chased your cigarette off of that cliff.
You fucking asshole.
All you left me with was seventeen bottle caps, a caffeine and nicotine addiction, a broken heart and one last teary phone call that went to voice mail because I didn’t have the time to pick up the phone while I was showering at 1:08AM. I miss you so fucking much. I haven’t stopped crying in over 2 weeks.
I remember every single thing about you, useless or otherwise. That won’t be the case for much longer, though. I’ve just taken about 60 sleeping pills and drank around half a bottle of vodka. I kept them in the same box the bottle caps were in. I’m not too sure about the exact amount of pills or vodka, though. I was never good at remembering important things outside of you. I hope you remembered my face as much as you remembered the stars in the s– …“
