It was the Fourth Of July and you were getting ready for work, as I laid in your bed naked and scared. How could someone as smart and funny and confident come to want to hang around with someone like me?
You know, if you called in, we could light off some fireworks. Or just spin some record and polish off that case we bought down in Ohio. I've got this feeling that casual's becoming complicated and if that's cool with you, that's cool with me.
And now it's fucking February and we haven't spoke in months, and I'm standing naked in my bathroom dying my hair. From what I've seen on the internet, you've gone and fell in love. Oh, how I wish I could look at anything the way he fucking looks at you.
And I still think about you from time to time. But if we never speak again, that'd be alright. I'd rather you remember me holding your hand to American Football instead of drinking myself to sleep to avoid feeling sad.
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