What you saw as your harmless fun, was his toxic misery.
Now that you are here, I don’t want to imagine a life without you and I know I don’t have to.
I want to love you, but the endless toll of lost love is holding me back.
I want to be loved as my own one-person species, and independent of all other outside phenomena.
You’re allowed to be a bitch and then give a completely long, drawn out apology about how much of a bitch you were. You’re allowed to tell someone when they keep reminding you of your bitchy moment to shut up.
Once upon a time, there was a boy. Well, actually, there were several boys. But more importantly, once upon a time, there was a young woman.
You couldn’t possibly like me, because I haven’t cried into my pillow over you, or written a sad poem about how we never really got to know each other despite how much we lusted for one another.
I’ll let you in on a little secret: it has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the people you are attracting.
Ours is a love story for the ages.
You will always be so charming and attractive to me, but all I can do is put you up on my shelf, out of reach, collecting dust, so you can be the spectacle that you want to be in this world, without being touched or influenced by my fantasies.