I wanted to tattoo my life above my breasts (the ones you used to love to much) so I asked you if you would hold my hand while I had it done. You thought I was trying to seduce you (again) and I asked if you were crazy. You answered maybe. And you asked if I wanted you to fuck me in the tattoo chair afterwards. I knew you were crazy then. You usually don't throw the word 'fuck' around so casually. I guess it was a bad idea to ask you.

But what should I have asked you? And what should I be telling you? I want you to get on a train with me - yes, right now, right this very second - and throw away everything you every needed or wanted or had. I want us to travel the world and see every single thing there is to see. But you rejected me for the seventeenth time last Saturday afternoon. And I kind of figured it was hopeless to pine after somebody with a girlfriend for oh so long.

I told you not to take me too seriously. I say things I don't mean because I like saying things. I like saying exciting things that will probably never happen. I like dreaming and I like having serious conversations about the clouds. I like how clouds have destinations. I wish I knew where I was going. You seem to know everything. And I seem to know nothing. We've changed, though, because it never used to be this way.

Sometimes, I get lost in grocery stores and people forget my name. I've become so detached that I don't really notice or care. I've been wasting so much time on intimidation, but I don't think it's even working anymore. I've never really been good with driving people away. I want to waste my time wondering why I'm here (and why you're eyes are such the perfect colour of night sky blue).

And, you know, I don't even like M&M's. I kind of thought you would have known that. I kind of thought you would have stood up for me when she said I was just being a jerk. I also kind of thought all those times we stayed up so late confessing our lives to each other might have meant something (anything) to you. But you're so damn innocent when you say it won't happen (can't happen) that I just want to pinch your cheeks and cry.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll give you the opportunity to apologize. Take back all those nasty things you said. It won't matter though (and we both know it) because by tomorrow we'll be talking like nothing ever happened. And you'll probably admit that you want to hold my hand when I get my life tattooed above my breasts (the ones you used to love so much).