how i made him miss me

what an odd feeling it would to be nothing than a vague,
dull memory to you. 

to be the girl you think back on now and think of regret. there is nothing i would want less than to be a girl you speak of like that. i will not be that girl. you will not speak of me now, as a regret. 

i want to be the girl you think of when other girls ask you about your first real, raw love. but you can never muster up the courage or the words to describe me. so you never talk about it. 

because the thought of my messy blonde hair finding there way in between our lips and the thought of the laugh that comes after, makes your heart ache and skip a beat or two. 

and you wont talk about how i would sing to you in the car to
awful music on the radio, 

and even though i couldn't sing you always loved to hear me. 

or how every time i see your mother she hugs me and we would sit and talk forever about nothing and everything. you wont talk about how you loved the smell perfume on my neck or the smell of my hands when you'd kiss them. you wont want to talk about it. 

because no one can compare themselves to me. 

and you wouldn't want anyone to compare themselves to me. 

so you don't talk about it, then you don't remember the feeling on my nails on your back. 

or my thumb rubbing your hand where you left a scar for you to look at each day. 

i want you to laugh when you drive past the places we made beautiful memories of each other, 

and remember the places we danced under the moonlight on the mountain top, and 

the rain puddles we would jump in and everywhere we fell in love with each other again and again. 

and when you're there you will think to yourself how you let me slip away from you, and the ever so tight grip you had on the small of my back. 

i will not be the girl you speak of in the way of regret. 

because that this the farthest thing i remember of you. 

i accept you as a dream that haunts me every now and then and, 

as a wonderful memory and nothing less. 

you are not a regret.

i cannot be regret.

The Night We Met // Lord Huron