I miss “goodnights” and good nights
My dad just said: at your age you’ll probably wanna try a lot of things. Boys, girls, being a girl, being a boy, being punk or goth or spunky. And im okay with that. As long as you don’t come home and tell me youre a republican
parents who care
Some days I won’t want to talk.
But please stay.
Make my heart pound so loud it forces me to remember I’m alive.
I’m a very private person. You don’t ask, I don’t tell.
Growing up I always thought true love was red roses, dates on Saturday nights, little block box that held expensive things, and always knowing what to say. I thought true love was a kiss in the rain, deep explanations, and the perfect story. But now that I’m older I’ve realized it’s not like that at all.
See because true love for me is ugly snapchats, and peeing while you’re on the phone. True love is kissing at 6 AM despite the morning breath and singing at the top of your lungs. It’s saying all the wrong things, at all the wrong moments. It’s sarcasm and being honest even when it hurts. It’s late hours of the night when it’s been a long day and it’s no make up and bad hair. It’s tears from laughter, it’s tears from sadness and it’s nothing like any storybook you’ve ever read. It’s never running out of things to talk about, and it’s being comfortable in the silence of things. True love is watching The Titanic though you swore you never would. It’s getting mad over stupid things. It’s “you’re an idiot,” and “you’re a little shit” and knowing you’re so lucky to hear those every day. It’s spilling your feelings at 4 AM when you should be asleep. It’s that song you hear on the radio that always makes you smile. It’s the worst story you could imagine, but thank God it worked out anyways. True love is never losing the magic. True love is not leaving when things get hard.
I like my definition better anyways.