concept: laying in the grass on a nice summer day watching the pink sunset while having a picnic with a few good friends and eating strawberries surrounded by a bunch of pretty flowers
“To whoever loves me next, I’m sorry if I’m afraid of you
or if days of flirting turn to
radio silence, without warning. I’m sorry if I make you say the words
over and over and over until I believe them.
(I’m sorry if I don’t believe them.) I will probably spend more time
worrying about losing you than I spend
trying to keep you.
Trouble is,
every single time I’ve ever thought
something was too good to be true–
I’ve been right. Understand,
I will know how to be vulnerable with you,
but I won’t know how not to regret it.
And I have no idea how deep we’ll be
into this relationship before I admit
I’ve never done this before.
Not really.
Not in any way that counts. Before I admit that I know
how to put my body inside someone else’s
but not how to make it beautiful. I probably won’t be easy to love.
Too many people loved me badly,
I’m not sure I know how
to do it right.”
“Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell…”
