Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go write it down, and either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want it to.
Part of me believes that love is more valuable when you have to work for it.
See the thing is I’m not comfortable in my skin, but I’m comfortable in your arms. I’m starting to wonder if it’s the same thing. If this is what love is supposed to feel like. If I was wrong the first time and the last time and the time before.