I’m Gonna Be Honest, You Make Me Ridiculously Nervous
I’m hemming and hawing over insignificant details lately. “He liked my Instagram photo (!!! butterflies!!) but didn’t text me back?! (*sad emoji*) WHAT?”
I’m hemming and hawing over insignificant details lately. “He liked my Instagram photo (!!! butterflies!!) but didn’t text me back?! (*sad emoji*) WHAT?”
I’m starting to look into eyes of lovers like sand in an hourglass, I can see us slipping.
I am creating my own earthquakes. And I am the only one to blame.
“If I wasn’t winning, you wouldn’t care.”
You’re constantly making jokes about your own sadness. Because, if everyone is laughing, it’s fine?
Just sex, I told myself one night. I think maybe it’s just sex to him. Maybe this is just sex to me. But then I’d hum “Amazing Grace” to myself in the car, just to see if I did know the tune.
Love isn’t just romantic prose. Love is being there. Love is showing up and doing the job, even when it isn’t easy.
A lot of my life has been denial. I don’t think I really understood that until now.
A parrot observing his surroundings.
He never loved you.