It’s been three months since we broke up, and I’ve had so many ups and downs in that time, I’ve lost count of them.
I knew you were going to leave from the moment I met you.
I hate when you can’t look at me, it’s more unnerving. Just look at me for once.
All of the feels with ~none of the guilt~
I’ll be the one that got away, but you never really had me.
You leaned against the fence and told me about your family. I wanted to just kiss you and hug you and look at all those stupid, beautiful lights with you.
You love a person for who they are and how they motivate you, support you and make you feel. But they should never be the all-encompassing, one thing in life that you love.
It felt like finally putting down a heavy bag I’d been carrying for weeks. I was both relieved to be rid of the weight but I felt completely lopsided without it.
You know it’s wrong as soon as it starts. It’s that soft voice. The gut feeling we are all told to never ignore.
You left a trail of everywhere that you had been. You drank whisky from my collarbone, scratched passion along my thighs.