Whiskey I [m.yg]

25.

I kept on going to that bar, but I never saw you.

The bartender didn't remember you nor did he recall seeing you and that was pretty messed up.

School started and I killed myself for not being able to go there. I wanted to see you so bad.

I missed you.

I miss you.

I went to your school once and made my way to the principal's office. I honestly stalled quite a lot, hoping I'd get to see you in one of the hallways, but I didn't.

I asked him if I could show up at your graduation as a guest and he said it was completely okay as long as I played the piano.

Every other day, for nine months, I kept on going to that bar, still hoping I'd get to see you.

Eventually, your graduation came up and I went there. My hands shook a bit too uncontrollably as I held the music notes, knowing I was going to see you.

Name by name, yours eventually came.

Oh my god.

For a few seconds, my fingers stopped playing the piano.

When I came back to my senses, I remember hitting a wrong note or two, but I didn't care.

You didn't notice me.

You looked so happy.

And for once, your happiness didn't make me happy.

I knew you were doing well without me and that's what hurt me the most.

I knew someone else was behind that smile.

Whoever it is that was behind that smile, I just want you to know that I hate him.