Needless to say

I don't think I know your number anymore, except for on a drunk saturday night. I tell you and the guy waiting for the bus just how how heavy it is.

Heavy like the books stacked on my shelf that I never get to read, and heavy like your gut when you hear my name I hope.

The street lights twinkle down the pavement and I get on with my life. My hair still slides down my back like it always has and from far away you wouldnt be able to tell how different I am.

I know I'm not the only one who looks over my shoulder sometimes. I started school again and fresh pencils and papers have always drawn me back to my roots under that tree in your backyard.

Wrapped in a sweater high on whatever I hope you never call me back.