it wasn't anything you did or
anything i said. it's just how
incredibly stupid i felt,
(and it's everything to do with her)
and that's when i gave up and walked.

i hid for a while and then you came back,
i heard you and stopped writing what
you wouldn't understand.
and when the others were all gone
i didn't feel alone anymore.

we pencilled our names in the fourth-storey paintwork,
leaning over the railing to laugh
when people passed. i asked if you could wolf-whistle
but you said you couldn't go that high anymore.

for a while i just sat there and you
thought i was crying
and i might have if we had stayed a little longer.
you were mine an afternoon, it was me and you
and a sketchbook:
and you wonder why i didn't want to go home?