This Message Was Deleted

Two-oh-three, I wrote it out, a paragraph of us,
the night in Montauk, the fight on the bus.
I said I'm sorry for the things I never said,
I said I still sleep on the left side of the bed.
I pressed send before my pride could change my mind,
then I hit "delete for everyone", and left you just a line.

But your "last seen" says two-oh-four,
so you read it, you read more,
you read the part where I said "stay",
before I wiped it all away.

This message was deleted,
but I meant every word,
the one you'll never quote me on,
the one you know you heard.
I can delete it for everyone,
but I can't make it come undone,
so let the gray line say it all:
I'm still the boy who waits for your call.

You always said I talk too much, I always overshare,
then you'd kiss me mid-sentence, like the rest could wait right there.
So here I am, oversharing to a ghost at two-oh-three,
and here you are, pretending that you never cared for me.

But your "last seen" says two-oh-four,
so you read it, you read more,
you read the part where I said "stay",
before I wiped it all away.

This message was deleted,
but I meant every word,
the one you'll never quote me on,
the one you know you heard.
I can delete it for everyone,
but I can't make it come undone,
so read the nothing that I sent,
you know exactly what I meant.

In the morning I'll be fine, I'll say it was the wine,
I'll say I didn't mean it, I'll say I crossed a line,
but you and I both know the secret of the gray:
the things we try to hide are the things we came to say.

This message was deleted,
but I meant every word,
the one you'll never quote me on,
the one you know you heard.
I can delete it for everyone,
but you were always everyone,
and every word I took away
is still the only thing I'd say.

This message was deleted...
but I'm still here.