It feels like people have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. Like all our exes, our former flames, the loves we were so desperate for to come back are all in a secret club that we have no knowledge of.
Let me tell you about my lies: I lied when I told you that I was fine. The truth is I cried myself to sleep the night before because I miss you.
And sometimes I think that dreams are just God’s way of speaking to us, guiding us or giving us a hint, a sign or an answer we’ve been desperately searching for.
I hate our timing. I hate how our timing never aligns. I hate how we never overlap. You’re always single when I’m taken and I’m always taken when you’re single.
Whether you’re currently dating someone or not (your Instagram reveals that you may be), I’m sorry, I don’t have an open-door policy, and I already have drinks on the books for tonight.
Hands perpendicularly lying on the contrary sides of the body, standing upright, against the wall, unperturbed, from lower body, upper body, until the eyes, that’s where it is dissimilar.
She’s tired of being the girl who believes and makes exceptions and ignores the red flags. She’s tired of being the one who always gets hurt in the end.
Being cheated on makes you appreciate the intricacies of love. It makes you stronger. It makes you want love more. It makes you want to love harder. It makes you want to find love that lasts forever.
It’s okay to look at their display picture, type a message and delete it. It is okay to listen to old, rusty breakup songs, and cry yourself to sleep. It’s okay.
Because you’re flawed and human and never too proud to admit when you’re wrong.