do i confuse you? do you worry about me sometimes? do you think about me at all? when you’re lying there alone, staring up at your ceiling, listening to something obscure; some band you can name that i can’t. you like that feeling, don’t you? you say i’m too smart for you and you like it when you know i’m not. i don’t intimidate you any more. i don’t have you under my spell anymore. but whatever, you don’t have me under yours either. i’m scratching you off like an annoying scab, and maybe i’ll bleed a little, but i’ll get over it. i always get over it, but only because i have to. this is your fault; we could’ve been something, but this is your fault. we could’ve been magic and this is your fault. but i’m sorry. i’m sorry for all the touches i won’t forget and the eyes that’ll pierce through me somewhere in the silence, and the little hesitation when i hear your name. but to hell with all of this. i regret nothing. this is your fault, and i’m the one who’s sorry, but only for a little while. i’m not broken. you didn’t break me. summer will breathe new life into me, and come september, i’ll rise from these ashes, wholly new and perfect.