I know I shouldn’t still love you.
I know I shouldn’t still cough up my heart, presenting it to you like it’s something you want.
Like it’s something you asked for,
You did not ask for my confessions.
I know this,
“We never even really dated,” I choke on my own words.
I close my eyes and remember the first night you kissed me,
the urgency of us,
of needing to close all spaces.
A jigsaw of skin constructed to fit each other perfectly.
It is a gross fact that keeps me up when everyone else is asleep.
It is the track that keeps repeating,
people are asking for a new song but I do not know how to tell them,
my CD player is broken and this is all I can get to work.
It is a pathetic story I tell myself again
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