He kisses it.
He caresses it.
He tries to ignore it... when he smells your breath.
My future isn't the sperm cells you've swallowed.
It's the lies you're about to tell him.
Tell him he's the only one.
Tell him you're not infatuated with me.
Tell him it was just once.
I'll confront him.
My day is his day.
Which is why my day is die day.
I no longer exsist to you.
I am no longer your friend.
I am the lover you sought refuge in one too many times.
One, two, many times.
I am not human.
I am a day.
The lucky number.
You're lucky a day can't verbalize anything.
Which is why you use me to verbalize your feelings.
Even if its for ...
The days leading to are like the days after... no matter what, it's the future.
So just let me die.
Valentine's Day, signing out...