This time around I had nothing to guide me with. You annoy the shit out of me, and I would slam the phone down with so much hatred and love. I miss you when my head is pounding with fury. You’re ridiculously embarassing, but you’re mine all mine.
I look at other lovers and wonder why ours isn’t rosy and pink, with flowers and compromise. What we have instead is shouting matches inside the car, the decibels throwing everything out of context. What we have instead is the undying feeling to make up and disappear into the world, because nothing is normal to us, at least, nothing is when we stopped holding hands.
