When I went to your house, I felt at home again.
Your dad gave me a hug. He probably felt each bone in my body rattling inside of me. I couldn't bare the thought of losing you again.
By the time I left your house, I hadn't stopped crying. Your lips stung my forehead. Your lips tasted like hell.
I wanted you so badly for all of the wrong reasons.
I wanted you to help me love myself. But you only hated me. You only muttered words under your breath.
When I got home that night, I finally stopped crying.
The "home" I felt at your house, was just familiarity.
You never loved me like I needed to be loved.
You changed.