You once told me you felt like you could never know what was on my mind. It’s you, always. I’m sorry I can’t answer your calls and I’m sorry I can’t see you. Everything hurts with you, even when you don’t mean it too. I don’t want your midnight kisses anymore. I want Sunday morning breakfast and car rides where I tell you how horrible your music is. Do you want me like I want you? Please don’t forget about me.