April 29, 2016

Dear love,

I don't know if it's a good idea to start writing you. It's already making me miss you more.

I'm mad for always being nice, always apologizing for things I didn't do, for getting attached, for making you my life, depending on you, and forgiving you.

And you know, I just don't get it. You will always have this special place in my heart, in my soul, that affects everything I do. My instincts and my actions.

A few tears managed to escape from my eyes, yet my first instinct was to protect the paper, instead of wiping them off my face. I didn't want the drops to blur my messy writing.

Which made me smile through my hot, steamy tears because it reminded me of you. How you would always goof around and say, "How is it that your eyeliner is always on point, yet your handwriting sucks?"