And only sometimes, I feel like saying this to the poor darling boy I threw away. If he had fought harder, I could have, would have, no, should have, still been his, right now. As I type, I'd be his lover, his girlfriend, his life, his light and heart and soul and laughter, ever after.
But no, he didn't come over, and that is that.
But no, he didn't come over, and that is that.
