I’d never admit it, but I sometimes still text you.
Except, maybe that’s a lie.
I turn my phone to airplane mode,
A text that’s floating,
I know I’m a bit insane.
But, I don’t know how to not have you in my life.
I’d never admit it, but I sometimes still stalk your Facebook.
I check your Venmo.
Navigate to your Instagram more times than can be healthy.
Debating viewing your snapchat.
Cave when it’s 2am and I’m drunk
And the world’s a bit quiet.
I tell myself it’s not stalking if it’s with a person you once loved.
I sometimes still filter through old photos.
I look at screenshots of convos.
The ones worth sending to my best friends.
I sometimes look through our old chats,
Convinced it’s less pathetic.
Because I’m not rereading our texts.
But, that’s probably a lie.
You and I both know I’d read them if I could.
But, I’ve already deleted them.
I already tossed out your clothes.
I’m probably a bit crazy.
I want you in my life,
Even after you’ve already left.
And yet I find myself holding on.
Reminiscing over the good.
Over what we once had.