It hurt you know, when you left.
I say left. You didn t go anywhere, not just yet anyway. But you left. You went inside yourself and refused to come back. For such a stupid, stupid thing. But that was always the way you were I suppose. Stupid.
Don t look at me like that, you were.
But it still hurt. Because I loved you, you know.
I couldn t stop myself thinking about you. About that night, especially. You just wouldn t get out of my mind. Stubborn. Stupid.
I just remember the fevered rush back to yours, your kisses on my neck, the heat as we barely registered the room in our haste. I remember the feel of your skin, the salty taste of your sweat, the sound of our moans intermingling.
I hate remembering. It can t be good for you. No day but today.
The silence hurt. But the final twist of the knife was when you announced you were leaving for good. Because I know it s my fault. At least, it is in your eyes, and that s the only thing that matters, really.
But still that night just keeps appearing at the back of my mind. You, rolling a cigarette, the ashtray between our bodies, the shaking of my hands long afterwards. Your guitar in the corner of the room, all but forgotten.
I don t suppose I ll see you again. Not anywhere but that damned memory. Goodbye love.