I always wonder
if when you turn over the back of your CD
you see the song you dedicated to me,
and remember us.
It's been a year since we broke up,
and I realized it's been that long
for me to forget you.
I loved you.
And if you cut off the last six months of our relationship,
it would have been a story
making generations of prepubescent girls swoon.
I was a heart broken high-school girl,
known for my absence more than my presence,
while you were a rock star,
tearing up concerts with your guitar,
everyone wanted you.
And somehow, we got forced together,
one night at a school dance,
where the lights were low and bodies were moving
we just flowed.
We were an item ever since.
I went to all your shows, stood in the front row screaming your name,
and you winked at me, absorbed in your fame.
After we'd been together for three months,
I left for Germany to find myself,
and you went back to your home up North.
For 34 days, we barely spoke,
save two phone calls and a handful of emails
saying something along the lines of
"I love you, I miss you, I'll be home soon"
and we were.
You met me back on the beach where we had our first date,
arms full of roses,
and that's when we decided
we wanted more than just a high-school romance.
We wanted our love to graduate and grow with us.
September came, I was in my senior year and you were held back,
I was the girl in the library, but you would rather party than get your grades on track.
People wrote me off as a goody two shoes so I was never invited,
but I longed to go with you.
It wasn't until later I learned that you just didn't want me to.
You started doing drugs,
I started falling apart,
you told me you wanted me close,
but my heart was in Europe,
and in this mystical place of Montreal,
a city I had never seen,
but somehow in my heart I knew
it was where I needed to be.
So we fought, and you drank, and you smoked,
and I was left awake
night after night waiting, because you said you'd be there
but you never were.
Your friends hated me. They thought my nerdy ways were lame
and called me a prude, but you stood by me,
regardless of what people told you to do.
I spiralled in and out of depression,
in and out of feeling worthless,
like I deserved this,
You showered me with gifts,
but the only thing I craved was what you never gave,
Then, shortly after Valentine's, a positive pregnancy test
shattered our carefree ways
as I carried a baby
for three weeks, and six days
before it was miscarried.
And after all that,
you still said you wanted me,
and then, on April Fool's, two days before our one year anniversary,
you told me you didn't love me anymore,
that I needed to change to make you happy,
that even if I stayed, you'd break up with me.
That night, I walked home barefoot, and when I got in,
I went online and booked myself a one way flight to Montreal
I never looked back since,
and we never spoke,
other than a few phone calls,
and a handful of emails saying
"Hi, how are you, good to know you're alive"
but eventually, even that connection died.
I saw you yesterday.
I was smoking a cigarette, and you were taking tokes off a joint,
our eyes met, but only for a moment.
You're still single, and I have a new boy,
there's no feelings left, but still I wonder
how we went from so much love
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I always wonder