So maybe I was wrong in thinking
We were meant to be
and that we were made for each other.

It feels like you are just simply not normal.

I am an open book
With pages covered in stains

don’t talk to me about love because i’ll try to define it in every way that’s been displayed for me.

If we weren’t so scared shitless
of the infinite possibilities that lie at our feet
and their inherent risk of failure and defeat
what an adventure life could be

they show me the inbetweens. 

All I can think about is you. Your kiss. How when you press your lips against mine I can tell you’re different.

Kiss me because it feels like home when your hands are in my hair and my heart steadily beats.

I never listen. At least that part is true. [it’s true].

You loved it when I choked.