Sometimes you’re sitting on your bedroom floor with your teeth chattering so hard you’re convinced they’re going to break and fall out of your mouth so you find a blade under your mother’s bathroom sink and you drag it across your wrist until the numbness and hurt spills out of you onto the carpet. You don’t really realize how bad the scar will be. You don’t really see the impact of what you did until it’s the middle of July and you’re sweating through your long sleeve shirt and you’re wiping the wetness off your forehead and the tears are dripping onto your tongue and you finally see that it’s not going to go away. You really fucked yourself over. You can’t erase it.
Maybe that’s why I fell for you without a second thought.
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