She told me there was someone else, and still, I let myself believe that she might choose me.
I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. But I want you to know that I have a hard time with words.
I am so sick and tired of people who promise love when all they really want is a bit of excitement until something better comes along.
I’m jealous. This admission is not meant to be self-serving. I promise.
Maybe I miss you. Or maybe I’m just lonely.
Another love will come along. A better love will come along.
You were always worth it. You were always enough.