Don’t kiss me; I taste like shattered glass. My past isn't your fault, but hell, if I don’t go out of my way to make it seem like that. I can't help but feel like I'm failing you. Maybe we're failing each other. Maybe we’re both failing, separately. I’m starting to accept the possibility that one day, I will hear love songs and think of someone that is not you. You stain every chord of my favorite songs; it can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
The English language is shifty and inarticulate; love is too many things. I can’t tell if this is love, or if I just want it to be.

I don't know how to make this okay.
I know you don’t know what to say.