I thought I'd write to you and let you know that I'm still dramatic and sixteen I thought I'd call you and tell you that I'm still miserable without you I thought I could find you at the bottom of a plastic cup But like we both knew, nothing ever helps the swelling inside our chests There's nothing left Now we visit our love like a long, lost monument; forever forgotten Part of me won't finish this story I'm holding on but you won't hold on for me Face down, complacent eyes Finding a place to die I'm not who I was, and I think I'm proud of that But, in a few more months, will I still say the same thing? When I'm at my worst, you seem to be at your best And I can't put this into words, but I'm so glad you never wrote back