You make me forget what a joke I have become, for all the flowers that I didn’t buy,for all the songs that I didn’t write, for all the days I could’ve spent for all the months we could’ve shared the rent for all the dates on which I turned up late and for all the excuses I could have made, for all the calls I never made and all the attention I never paid for all the gestures bastardised by untruth and all the brittle promises I made to you for all the men you might have met and all the time we cried in secret for all the weeks we’ve been apart and all the times I said that it would start from here on in I’m sorry now