your lies stitch my wounds with the thread of hope three years and i made you fall in love, almost. our memories return late at night, reminding me, you weren't worth the fight. now i lay down on my bed at two in the afternoon. this could've been over soon. i haven't thrown out your clothes yet, perhaps i'll keep some of them. for who else will provide me the comfort you brought with your scents, who else will ever come close to your pretense