Faking it just isn't my thing anymore.
I miss your eyes. I have those moments before we kissed frozen into my head and they keep playing themselves over and over again. I can't even stop it anymore.
I was leaning against the wall playing with the lighter, protecting the flame from the wind. You were standing in your socks, hands in your pockets, wearing the same black shirt you always wear. You had a thing for her back then, and I was not a whore. I would not come between that.
But we kissed. I let the flame die, I put the lighter in my pocket, and we kissed.
Do you know what gets me about that fucking kiss every single time?
Ten minutes later, you got back together with your ex-girlfriend.
I pick such winners.