I wear his cigarette smell like a perfume on my lips,
it's like a memory of every time he almost
kissed me (but never crossing the line
between his commitment
to someone else and
my purity).

His long locks of black hair still in a photo frame some-
where inside my heart, covered in so much dust,
you can hardly see the illusion I made of him.
And I never dare to look at it (what if it
reminds me of how beautiful I
used to think he was?).

All the nights his eyes made my sanity melt into
tiny pieces of a dream, never meant
to make its way to reality, but
ohso sweet (I could never
tear myself away
from him).

All the alcohol in his blood, mixed with so many pills
and hell yeah's from an overactive mind (not
capable of coping with such a disease
called depression), left a mark
on all the people who have
come to resent him
because
of it.

And every time he looked at me, with his 'do you dare
to come out and play' eyes, and his accidental
touches making me shiver like only a
lover could make me do, he lured
me in a little bit more (he
was so good at making
me beg for it).

And I loved every single part of him
(when everyone seemed to
hate him, so very –
very much).