I can remember every look a boy has ever given me. That type of look that made me feel like I had no other choice than to start falling in love with them.
It hurt to not be over you, to love you unrequitedly, but I sustained myself on the idea that it was okay for it to be so hard to move on because what we had was something that shouldn’t be easy to move on from.
You’re not always in the same room when you need each other and you’re both having conversations in the dark with new people, but you can’t let this slip through.
I’ve tried talking to multiple boys pretending that they’re interchangeable, purposely ignoring the ones that make my pulse race for fear of getting close enough and, eventually, hurt. But I refuse to do this any longer.
He invites you into his bed and you are totally and utterly his, but it doesn’t matter because you’re just friends.