I could smell your scent from 100 miles away and I tried to ignore it. I always forget to remember to not get attached to things 

especially the okay looking ones 

because they’re never what I think they are and I always get so sad when they’re gone. 

but the problem with me is 

that I get attached to everything 

every book every pen every candle every word every cup of coffee 

that I end up spilling a little bit of every fucking morning

every pair of pretty eyes every car I drive behind on the highway every friend that says they’ll never let me down every pair of socks

and I always end up fucking losing one

and most of all mediocre boys who call me pretty 

because they almost always only want one thing

but what they don’t know is I’m a lot more than one thing. I’m a million little things. a million little attachments. a million little molecules. none of which I wanted to give to you. 

above all i’m attached to myself. I’m okay on my own. it’s okay to be attached to yourself. but even after it all i’d still much rather be attached to you. 


your mind likes to wander in circles and remember stupid, little things like the dress you wore when you kissed him goodbye is the same dress you wore when he left. for good. the same dress that you haven’t touched since and the same dress that still hangs in your closet and smells like regret. he told you that you looked pretty and I guess you believed him but I guess maybe you shouldn’t have. I guess there was this whole other part of his life that he hid. you were the secret. you were the other girl he hid under his covers and didn’t expose. how didn’t you see that? no hard feelings because you’re happy now. he’s happy now. but happy is just a state of being and happy slides better off the tongue than sad does and I guess that’s why I keep saying it. keep saying it and saying it and saying it. repeating it. maybe if I say it one more time I’ll believe it. they all believe it.