I thought I'd write to you and let you know that
I'm still dramatic and sixteen.
I thought I'd call you and tell you that
I'm still miserable without you.
I thought I could find you in the bottom
Of a plastic cup but, like we both know,
Nothing ever helps the swelling inside our chests.
There's nothing left.
So we'll visit our love like a long lost monument,
forever forgotten.

Part of me won't finish this story,
I'm holding on but you won't hold on for me.
Forever alone.
Poor me, poor me.
Now my letters have all been returned so
I sit around this fire and let them burn.

I can't sing this song any longer.
I'm done with all this childish nonsense.