what if it’s past midnight,
with a glass of liquor in my hand
and years of trying to forget you,
is when i decided to drunkenly call.
will it be like in the stories,
where you’ll get to call me
your number one girl.
what if it’s past midnight
and my friends dared me in the club,
of after years of no contact
to text that i have always been in love.
will my vision be steady enough
when i read your reply;
“i love you more—even after we lost us before”
what if it’s past midnight
after being the reason we’re not together now
is when i disrupt your peace
to ask if you can pick me up.
will you come and see me;
to hold me and hear how saying sorry
will only add wounds to the past.
i didn’t wrote this drunk,
but i didn’t feel sober either.
if i tried to reach out in the middle of the night
will it ever leave a scar?
i hope to have courage some day
to finally face what i was before,
and show what i have become.
when it’s past midnight
and i decided to come back,
i will be standing at your door
still, you will never hear a knock