On Friday night I saw you,
I saw you for something I thought you were,
I saw you in the mirror as an illusion,
A face I used to predict as my match,
The face I see in myself when my eyes are blurred from whiskey.
I pull these funny faces in joyful, tipsy splendour only to see your face reflected as a dark memory of what could have been.
On Friday night I see a lost memory,
A time when I was hopeful,
A time when I believed that this could have worked,
A time when I believed that I was yours and you were mine and that he did not exist.
On Friday night I had a relapse and thought of you,
And on Saturday morning I realised how stupid I really was for thinking of you in such a way.
On Saturday morning I realised that I was better,
That I deserved better,
And on Saturday morning I contemplated how I would treat you if I saw you,
And I still haven’t made up my mind.
I’m unsure of whether I would breakdown at the mere glimpse of you at the bar,
Or whether I would simply smile and say nothing at all and that would be that.
On Saturday morning I made a vow,
That no matter what Friday night says to me,
When I am intoxicated with whiskey and rum,
Thinking back to the time when you were in my life,
And the way you would make me laugh,
And the way you would make me smile when I laid on your chest,
And the way you would make me feel empty when you weren’t there,
That I will never forgive you for choosing him over me,
And I will never forgive you for the pain you put me through every drunken night when I see your face in mine.