Its always in the back, like the cool kids of the bus

I thought about you

As I do

As people do, about the ones that got away,

the ones that they are reminded about in Bob Dylan songs

But it went a little more vivid then the thoughts

I could feel your jeans, tight to your thighs, the skin underneath them,

after taking the jeans off

Your laugh when you understood, the meaning of what I was articulating

The easy stare into nothing, as you kept your hands busy,

until I come and hold them

I thought about you

Fondly in this, detailed way, with pictures online to aid me

And it hit into my gut

You slapped me in the face once, and now that memory is what appears

my skin singed from the hit, cause in this ample amount of vividness

that hit, was hard

And all I can do is write this, awful piece

This trite work that only hurts me more, and makes me feel so talentless

And useless

I cant talk to you anymore, I don't think

It isn't aloud anymore, right?

I once wrote one of my shortest and favorite pieces about you,

well, staring you

And now your in this calamity of a plea,

despicable representation of writing,

accurate portrayal of me

You cant break my heart, or any cliche of that matter

Ive told you, Im not as weak as you think, as the other boys who have loved you were

But you are a queen in my thoughts

To you I am merely a fictional character, of a book you read from time to time,

maybe to keep up with, I don't know anymore

I am a ghost that haunts, unaware of his dimensional situation

I like to end with lies, lies to myself,

cause thats what keeps the hopeless hoping,

Maybe someday, I will see you again, and you will realize,

I am real