i dont
know
whether you're lying.
whether the stories
we're lies.
are they?
i miss the way
it used to be.
when you wrote me sweet poems
that i read and smiled to in my room
that i believed fairly effortlessly.
i miss
when i could have held back
because now you're stressed
and i think you don't care
and now sweet bubblegum kisses turn into unsweetened chocolate.
and fairly distant talks
turn into
this pain hurts but i guess i should've seen this coming.
do you even love me?
-word count; 84
