Last week I heard you were moving to Portugal. Portugal, huh? Such a beautiful place, you’ll fit right in. I’m glad you have a job, you’re making a life for yourself and I’m so happy for you. But. Why did I have to hear you were moving away? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? I don’t know when we became friends of a friend, I just remember being best friends, being almost lovers and then becoming little and now we are nothing. If I was moving to Portugal I don’t think I’d even be able to think about another country without consulting you first. I guess that’s the only definition of the relationship that we have. If you told me to stay I’d root myself to this very ground but if I tell you to stay I’m scared you’ll go faster. Enjoy Europe and if you meet a pretty girl with green eyes, tangled curly hair and chapped lips at least try to think of me, okay?
e.r ;; you're leaving and i can't quite help wishing you'd take me with you
