it's just that the only thing that i can feel for him is a memory, the shadow in flickering light of love or the polaroid of my heart all torn up... and as much as i may try to ignore these things i seem to have learnt nostalgia from one of it's masters and have turned it into waking nightmares, 7 am anger, and the punctuation of an afternoon in which everything-is-okay-as-long-as-i'm-me-and-you're-not-you with some uncalled-for moment of genuine tenderness. I regret it all immediately.