Open

This is probably the most open thing I've ever written, but I know it can undergo speculation. I'm not stupid and I am aware of everything that can happen out of this, and all the interpretation that can come out of it. But the author is dead. Think about that.

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I wonder if you remember, the things that were said

The secrets told, the 'trust' placed, the things set in my head

The late nights, the times where you were completely open

Months on end this happened, and the same thing happened again and again

Reverting back to such immaturity is a slap in the face

As it contradicts everything I ever knew, about you.