One Hundred and Forty Nine

Yknow what I do think about often, though?
Is timing.


I think you came into my life at a very specific time. A kind of stupidly ironically convenient time for you to walk through those doors on that night,
when I'd stupidly ironically conveninently chugged an entire pint of beer
on an empty stomach.

It wasn't smart.

Nothing about us was smart.

Only folly.
Pure folly and folly and more folly, fed on dreams and maybes and flirting with fire that you made me think was there. But there was nothing there. Only dreams and maybes.

And now only anger
and avoidances.

I try so hard to not regret you.
You make it really hard, though, sometimes.