It Doesn't Mean A Thing.
I wrote this a few months ago when I had this really weird feeling that, if I had done this, then maybe some things would have turned out different.
Whatever. The feeling has passed.
And I do mean feeling.
It doesn't mean anything.
After every kiss I gave you, after every laugh that escaped our throats-- it never meant anything.
It doesn't matter that, when I'm around you, I feel. It doesn't matter that I can actually feel my heart when you're near me. None of it matters.
It didn't have to be you, it could have been anyone.
When your face appears in my dreams, when I place a pencil to paper and am assaulted by thoughts of you, when I re-read old conversations, and watch old movies and almost cry; I have to remember that it never meant anything.
There was no truth behind your smile. No warmth behind your lips. There was nothing. There couldn't be.
So, when I grabbed you in the hallway, kissed you hard, and walked away without another word, just remember…
It meant everything.