Cheaters' Remorse

My fingernail polish is chipping,
like the paint on your cheap apartment's walls.
Sometimes we pass each other with shopping carts at the grocery store.
I always hold my toungue,
but I can't help but wonder, would it kill you to call?

My sleeping habits have turned to shit,
I torture myself all night.
Forcing myself through paid programming, snowy static and TV guide,
in hopes my phone will ring at some ungodly hour.
You were always known for that.
And though I've received some interesting calls,
none of them have been from you.

My walls are awfully empty,
without the pictures of us decorating them.
I put them in a little box,
I look through it to remember what we had every now and then.
You had a smile on your face, and I know it was me that made you happy.
We were cuddled on a bench, outside a club, on a cold winter night.
A friend took the picture, it was candid.
i can't remember most of the night, or why I was laughing.
I remember the last time I was in your apartment.
Your copy of the photo was thrown in the trash bin.

And though it may seem I'm full of complaints,
I'm just glad to see you happy again.
Your eyes have regained that sparkle, and sometimes you smile at me the way you used to.
I can't seem to muster up words to ever express how sorry I am.
And you can't muster up the balls to confront me.
So, until then, we can stay where we are, as friends.