Year One

Nights like these make me beg for punishment. Let me pull out old snapshots, let me read the old conversations that are intrinsically bad for me. Let my pull my hair down and let the tears roll awkwardly around my nose to my lips. The salty taste reminds me of those nights, one year ago. Those horribly wonderful nights, delicious sin promising me a world of pain and love.
I wonder if he's thinking about me, sometimes.
Wonder if he ever remembers what happened, wonder if he ever imagines things differently. He wouldn't, it's not his style. Live in the moment, forget regrets. That's what he told everyone anyway. I knew differently.
I can't answer when you call now, can't pretend to be happy anymore. You won't believe me anyway.
So here I am. Punishing myself.
Picture after picture.
Make it hurt.