i think i’m done here. narrowing focus. i’ll miss you forever. this is not a goodbye.

i stay up at night thinking about how i’ll probably never hear your voice again. fair and unfair, i know what i deserve but do i have to pretend to be so okay with all of it? drunk, talking about you again. i keep falling off the bar stool, tripping over words, skipping verbs as i tell yet another stranger about your eyes. i guess some stories are too good to have a happy ending.