You tasted like every shortcoming I had ever experienced.

My toothbrush thrown on to the ***** floor of an apartment that I had to sneak in and out of. The sound it made mimicked the sound of my ribcage snapping from my heart spilling over with a mixture of relief and guilt. You said that I reminded you of going home when you were small. You never told me you hated your mother

Hearing someone say that you were almost good enough to ****, but turns out you aren't as good of a kisser as they had hoped. Remembering that your first thought was you don't have to kiss to have ***

After nights upon nights of sleeping on couches and finally being invited to sleep in your bed. I had already made myself a make shift nest on the floor, when you told me that you would never let someone like me sleep alone. We kissed and I felt the romantic short-comings spill out of my mouth and into yours.

I should've know you'd spit them back in my face.