I want white wine and cigarettes,
again.
I want sleepovers every night
and
choosing warm arms to cold chairs.
I want 6pm on a Thursday, racing home.
I want to be fat and talk about,
"when we get famous."
I want my head on your lap
and a cool may morning at 2 am.
I want the smell of early June and July
when we had the birthdays across seas
we never quite got to share.
I want to fix that.
just like you told me
everything
and when it all came crashing down
you cried,
"i never want to be like him."
you are apart of me
that i cant let go
and just as hard as i deny it,
it buries itself deeper within me.
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