Hello,
All my former lovers.
Shall we pick apart a dozen reasons,
Why things didn’t work out?
Crossed wires,
‘Ere harsh truths?
Hah.
I’m not that much of a fuckhead.
Some of you?
I’ll love until the day I die.
Let’s keep our mourning in our back pocket,
Instead.
Grief is strange.
Grief Is Strange.
