Mischief 

And sometimes when the train takes to long to arrive and the rythm of my music slows down I miss you. Weeks can pass without thinking about you and then again I find you when you least expect it, like a lost coin in a backpocket. You were the closing elevator that I’d run to. You were the person whose number I could always call, you would always pick up, even when we left on bad terms. Our no was always yes and our maybe full of mischief. We had it and we blew it. We made it impossible for each other to get along because we wanted it to badly. Our dreams were big but reality was bigger.