I told you that every cigarette you lit wouldn’t bring her back, but the empty packets discarded on your floor grew until I couldn’t help tripping over the ghosts of what you want and what she wanted.
You drowned your sorrows in shitty beer and shitty music that blasted round your whole apartment and the couple next door complained but you didn’t care. ‘Everything’s so shitty,’ you told me. You locked the door and drew the blinds and smoked until your eyes stung.
You pushed everyone away because they reminded you of her. Even the girl that smiled at you on the bus had her smile, or maybe that was just another excuse you kept telling yourself at the end of every day.
You quit college so you didn’t have to see her face despite your friends telling you that avoiding the problem never works as eventually you have to face it again, and running away doesn’t last when your lungs are fighting for breath.
She phoned you at 5 a.m telling you she’s sorry. SO sorry, about everything. I don’t know why you went back after everything she did to you, but at least you don’t smoke or drink half as much now.