“why do I still go stand on my balcony staring up at stars hoping that you are thinking what I am thinking?
why do I still wake up from my sleep when I hear a notification from my phone hoping that you sent me a message?
why do I still read those notes you passed to me in school hoping that you would be reading the notes I passed to you?
why do I still smell your cologne when I think of you?
why do I still feel the warmth of your skin when I think about the night we stayed up talking?
why do I still remember the small things you like… like spearmint gum, Kenny Rogers songs, the way you smile when you think of something dirty, everything about you?
why do I still… love you? when all you did was pretend to love me?”