No, don't get me wrong. I was never the crazy, obsessed girl you made me out to be.
Nor am I saying, that you are still on my mind suffering bouts of melancholy,
I am all my demons that I fought, I am all the fires I lit around me and came out alive.
So no, you don't define me; you never did, But you were one of the fires I burned in.
I only carry that one last butterfly in my stomach that won't leave.
The one that makes me go back to all the old pictures of you.
The one that makes me wish I could live that time once more.
The one that makes me want to pick up my phone and call you.
To tell you how shitty my life was back then.
To tell you what that feeling meant to me and about all the chest pains.
Maybe it's my unfinished business and things I want you to know.
To let you know about that happiness I found was only because I was looking for it in you.
Because it was never really you who made me happy, but my false attachment to you.
I loved the person I was when I was around you and the idea of loving someone like you.
I confess, I have been scared to admit to myself how pathetic all of this really is,
This feeling of wanting to know what your life is about right now.
I could just call, we could be friends, but you wouldn't want that because we never were.
I could tell you that sometimes I still miss you and that I have some regrets.
I am weak when I let this feeling take over me time and again.
My head knows that I am better than this moment of weakness.
Hell, I wish I wasn't even writing this tonight.
But I need to get this off my chest.
