My bad

This year is going to be the year
Or maybe it’s next year
Or maybe it was last year
Or maybe there’s no arbitrary endpoints between the years and we’re all just winding down and there haven’t been years with you and years without you
Are you kissing someone at midnight?
A guy like you, of course you are.
I’ll be drowning in my own delusion
And of course cheap champagne
And typing in your number but deciding not to call and counting the years gone and predicting the years left and determining the turning point where it all went wrong but if they’re all just random points on a dead man’s old map
Maybe i’ve been bad all along

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