I was scared to write about you because if I were to recall the last time I was truly happy, it was when there was a boy who was eager to read my stories. And writing about you would mean that I have accepted the fact that as soon as I finish this, you would not be able to read what I have written.
You spend your entire life hearing about the dangers of getting attached and swearing that you’d be exception, only to find yourself five songs deep into Adele’s new album with one name on your mind. You know all the rules to the game: don’t date the bad boy, don’t be clingy, don’t backslide with an ex. You walk into the preverbal room with all of these cautions in the back of your mind, only to throw them away seconds later.