Wasting time

If I could have it back, all of it back. Eyes, face, the smile, the memory of fights after wine and kisses after more wine, the gifts of happiness and pain within two seconds of eachother, the times I pressed her buttons and she would say fuck off, Matt; you’re a dickhead, Matt. If I could have it all back. The silence to questions I already know the answers to, the answers to questions she never asked, the roll of her eyes, the smile once again, the snide comments about her parents, the playful slap on the arm each time I said something inappropriate, the way my eyes could only see her when others were in the room, the days I didn’t want to see her, the days she hated me, the moments of comfortable no speak, the days we wasted. If I could have it back. All those days we wasted, living dead in bed with the tv roaring, the eyes forward and our heads sore from the night before. All those days we wasted. And if I could have them back, I’d only waste them again. If I could have them all back, I’d only waste them with you.

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