second star to the right, straight on 'til morning

Just give me tonight

I’ll get over you.

I’ll stand a little taller, shoulders square, feet leading me in every direction except for yours. I’ll smile wider and brighter and laugh at myself when the commentary in my head is just too funny not to share. I’ll go out with my friends and lean against tables in the dark corners of bars. I’ll let a girl buy me a drink and I’ll let her stand a little closer and lean in a little farther to tell me a story I won’t be able to hear anyway. I’ll turn the music up when I drive and sing even louder. I’ll leave my towels on the floor because I can, but I’ll pick them up before I leave for the day, if only because that was me, not you, who hated the idea of the towel being damp all day. I’ll leave my coffee mug in the sink. I’ll uncap the toothpaste, who cares. I’ll sleep across the bed from one side to the other and I might leave a light on if I want to. I’ll flirt with the girl at the ice cream counter and let her fingers graze mine as she hands me back my change. I’ll go back to my friends and let them laugh too loud, attracting too much attention. I’ll look back at the window and smile at her and maybe tomorrow I’ll give her my number and tell her to call me sometime. I’ll drink a little more and worry about the consequences tomorrow. I’ll throw out the emergency pack of cigarettes because I won’t them anymore. I’ll finally throw out the pillow in the living room that never matched anything else, the one you refused to give up. I’ll get over you and you’ll be a small, heart-shaped tattoo on the inside of my wrist that will fade over time. I’ll get over you, tomorrow.

Just give me one more night to remember.