The only reason you are finally changing your ways is because I am about to walk away. This is your last ditch effort to change my mind, to show me that you can be different, to convince me not to leave.
I hope you look at me and understand because you know what it’s like to be misunderstood too. To be judged.
To be broken by a life you did not choose.
Almost relationships are exactly the same as official relationships, minus the title. Minus the respect. Minus the effort put forth from both sides.
I am extreme. I am dramatic. I will overreact when your voice changes its tone, when you forget to send me a text back, when you look at your phone instead of into my eyes.
If you were born under the Waning Gibbous, you fall in love selflessly.
It sucks that we don’t talk anymore, because people like you don’t enter my world often.
I don’t need flowers every day. I don’t need the candles. I don’t need the sparkly presents wrapped in ribbon. That’s not the kind of romance I’m talking about. I’m talking about giving me the time of day. I’m talking about eye contact. I’m talking about telling jokes that make me throw my head back laughing.
He wants you to stay loyal, but he doesn’t want to commit himself.
Whenever a girl starts to get a little flirtatious with him, he finds a way to work your name into the conversation so she knows he isn’t on the market.
I love the way you fidget when I’m near you because I make you nervous. I love the way you’d constantly lock your eyes with mine. I love how your eyes search for mine even when there are hundreds of other eyes around you.