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A/N: Just more garbage I found in my writing folder. I’m a sucker for writing depressing Dave, dunno why.

I crumble another sheet of paper and throw it on the floor.

I try to write you poems,
But the words—they don’t make sense

You were always better at poetry, a natural talent if you must. I use to creep into your room when you weren’t home and devour what you wrote. It was wrong of me I know, but it was my guilty sin, seeing what went on inside of your head because all I wanted was for you to let me in.

I had a journal too where I wrote songs about you, stuffed under the cushions a little secret of mine, I think I’d die if you ever read it, but I guess I don’t have to worry about that now. The journal now lays in a box hidden in the back of my closet, along with the ring I bought you, too scared to ask the question til it was too late and we were on a plane to Hawaii with your tramp.

Wedding bells ringing, metaphorically of course, taunting me as I watched you stoned off your ass say “I do.”

One of the many mistakes I made in life.

I’d like to say falling for you was also one, but never could it be. You hung the stars and the moon, one look into your eyes and I’d forgive you for anything.

I even forgive you now... for leaving me.


Taking everything away from me, my passion for music, my happiness... my ability to love.

I don’t think I can love again.

Sure there is Jen, but I could never love her. She’ll always be the one I settled with. A mediocre life is what I’ll have without you here.

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