I've only been in love three times.

The first time it was puppy love.
I fell in love because I thought I was supposed to.
It was freshman year and I was convinced it was for life.
A month of love I thought I would have forever.

The second time it was with words,
and lack of action.
I fell in love with the way he told me he wanted to spend his life with me, when he said he'd join me in adventures around the globe, and when he said we could be intertwined in my bed.
The only time he came through was late at night, drunkenly in the backseat of his car.
I never heard any words from him the next day.

The third time is current.
It's locking eyes cuddled on an old couch.
It's nights spent on the floor at his house with tired words and warm squeezes at 3am.
It's holding hands in the car and nice conversation.
It's goodnight kisses and muffled "I love you's" on my porch at midnight.
It's being skin on skin and I'd still want him closer.
It's something I know is going to hurt like hell.