Type

I was the type of girlfriend to pack a gorgeous lunch with expensive sparkling drinks and take you to the place I go to get away from the world.

I was the type of girlfriend to walk miles to get to your house at 8am to wake you up with kisses.

I was the type of girlfriend to shower you in letters of my subconscious mind and fold them into intricate little envelopes.

I was your first. 
Or maybe I wasn’t, sometimes I wonder if anything you said was true.

I hope that when you have sex with her it feels like making love.

I hope that you don’t get a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach afterwards.

I hope that when you leave she doesn’t cry because she doesn’t know what she did wrong.

I hope you talk to her about all the things going on in your fucked up little head and don’t leave her when it gets too much for you to handle.

And I especially hope that you keep all those promises you make to her.

Because those things are the ones that destroyed me.