Remember you said we’d spent all of our time together this year ? You came at mine like twice and so did i at yours.
Remember for years you asked me when was it that i’d post a new article ? Only few comments, shy comments. But always asking. Felt like I wrote, mostly for you. I met a girl and another one and another one and I stopped writing. Stopped writing for you. Writing about you.
Remember you were my movie best friend ? Remember you used to ask “Alors, t’as aimé ?” as soon as the movie was over ? Remember the movie we watched before… ?
Remember you thought I had a big culture ? And I couldn’t understand why you didn’t come with me in Cinema option. Come with me in Literature.
Remember how I felt like I could teach you things, while what could I ? What could I and who the fuck was I to screw you up the way I did ? Remember you’d always and maybe still says you don’t blame me.
Remember you couldn’t wait to leave that city full of bastards that knew too much about you ? Remember you said She & I were an evidence ? Remember the only people knowing now in Toulouse are linked to me ?
Remember I could always tell you what girl was I about or did I just fucked ? Remember all this time you’ve always been the only one who knew how disgusting it was to me ? Remember you were the only one to worry about it ? To tell me If you want, I call you in the middle of the night saying I have a problem so that you don’t shag her. If you’re sad, I bring you strawberries. In the middle of winter.
Remember you told me I was wrong thinking People always leave ? That you didn’t feel like you were one of these, that you truly care, that you wouldn’t let me ? Remember I introduced you as a friend to my current girlfriend so that she wouldn’t be jealous of you like the stupid previous ones, so that I could spend my time with you ?
The fuck come back, Clara.
