We went to the house where you were staying.
There was myself, my mate, you and your mate.
We were only teens aged 16-19.
What did we know back then?
I knew next to nothing except music and planes.
We went to the shop and got our beer.
Drinking all night and watching trash horror.
Later, we all slept.
My mate with your mate, upstairs.
She had a sexy body and was pretty.
Yet she had the local attitude.
You were the big one and another local one.
I left school 18 months before.
My maths teacher said:
Don’t let me hear of you getting anyone pregnant on someone’s living room floor.
That’s exactly what I did with you.
Or so you said when we met on that dark night.
I was with one of my mates and you were with gobshite.
You told me the news.
I said get rid of it.
You said no.
That was that.
How different it would have been if you were nice and I loved you.
I never liked the Wet Wet Wet lyrics you wrote me.
I liked The Bangles.
And wanted an alternative gal.
Not a local slapper.
Of course, none of it matters now.
Except to me.
I did everything wrong back then.
I survived your brother.
I survived my strict mother.
I survived my street racing car crash.
I survived the fights.
I survived the bullies.
I survived myself.
I survived the wrong job.
I survived darkness you caused.
All for what?