i told her that when she got married to that no talent boy bander that i wasnt going to write about her. people ask me if i miss her and i say yeah.
yeah.
people ask if i will ever talk to her again, and i think to myself, but i dont say it, i think to myself, well, thats my girlfriend. i dont care who she marries, shes mine. he’ll get struck by lightening one day and she’ll come running back to me and i’ll laugh through the whole funeral and people will give me dirty looks and i will open my dinner jacket and show them my tshirt that says “you shouldnt have made me come here.”
people ask if we talk on the phone or anything and i say no.
people ask if we ever send carrier pigeons to each other and i say sometimes.
but i lie, she sends me one almost every day.
people ask me why i dont like her husband and i say easy, just look at him, or better yet, or worse yet, listen to him.
they say whats wrong with listening to him.
i say, if i was given the ability to sing why would i waste it like he doesn? honestly, would you sing that sort of crap?
i say how come he doesnt wear tshirts that said anna on it.
i say how come he doesnt wear a turtleneck that says luckiest man alive.
they say, but you two seemed to be so in love, and i would say, so.
and they say, but you two were inseperable for a while, and i would say so.
life goes on. ask benlo. people breaking up and people getting together is the oldest dance move out there.
people say would you ever forgive her for marrying him.
i say maybe.
but i think no.
people say will you ever be back together with her again.
and i say, of course.
look at her.
shes my girlfriend.