Nine

You have a tattoo for me on your side.

I have a tattoo for you on the back of my arm.

I wonder if it ever hurts your pride.

I wonder if it ever causes you harm.

I won’t describe them, you already know the ones.

I know that you beg to forget.

And I know that you try to run.

I hope that when you see it, it stops you dead in your tracks.

I hope that you hear it.

I hope that you can feel it coursing through your veins.

That ink is something you can’t escape.

It will always be the same for me.

Luckily, mine can’t be seen as easily.

At least not by my own eyes.

It only stands as a promise that was broken and filled with lies.

Every time that my phone goes off, I pray to God that it’s you.

I try every day to convince myself that none of this is true.

I wouldn’t even know what to say.

I might even ignore it for a day, maybe even two.

I finally got a new car.

It’s much nicer than my old one.

I don’t think I deserve it.

All the windows are tinted, even the front two.

I keep them rolled down, just in case I drive past you.

I want you to see me and think.

I hear your voice in every song that comes through my stereo.

I see you in the passenger seat, no matter who is sitting there.

Distracting me from driving, with your in-car performances.

It’s a morbid thought, but if I had crashed the car because of them, I wouldn’t have been mad.

Not unless something happened to you.

I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you.

I do hate the thought of you with someone else, especially him.

I did mean it when I called you crazy.

I still think you are.

Truth be told, we are both crazy.

You always had a way of making me feel even crazier than usual, though.

I mean that in both a good and a bad way.

I saw that girl that you really don’t like, at the fair.

You probably won’t even be able to figure out which girl I’m talking about.

You hate a lot of people.

I gave her a big hug.

I was fried and trying to sneak into the fair for free.

It’s times like that one, that I wish I had cameras following me around.

So that you could always see where I was going, what I was doing and who I was with.

So that you could always see when I smile.

It might make you upset.

It might bring you comfort.

It might make you cry.

Who knows, though?

I’m terrible at goodbyes.

My number is still the same, and you aren’t blocked anymore.

Text me.

Oh God, please text me.