I guess you never really know if love will work out or end up tearing you apart.
There are two types of love:
One beginning that lasts forever and one that ends with a crash and a burn.
There's smeared lipstick from pressing your lips to his so hard and poetry on pages covered in little hearts you doodled in maths class.
There's frilly sundresses and laughter and the simplicity of holding his hand everywhere you go.
There's looking at him like no other being on the entire planet and seeing his eyes for galaxies and all of the stars he compares you to.
There's love until the end.
There's also the love that's on and off until you realize it was never really on.
There's screaming and torn poetry and your mascara starts to run.
There's tissues and broken hearts and another girl he now calls his own.
There's that part of you that keeps running back to him and gets hurt everytime you attempt to flick your hand over the flame of a match,
You can't do the trick like he did and you end up burning every ounce of you that wasn't already in pain.
There's "I'm done" and "I'm fine" and "we're done" and all of you is ripped apart.
The point is,
I guess you never know which relationship you'll end up in,
Because they both seem so similar in the beginning.
They're both just so ******* special,
Perfect,
But when you're drinking,
Thinking about all this in the later years of your life,
Every single word you read from old journals and such will be tinged with bitterness and shame,
Because you'll still be able to blame yourself for not picking the right one.