It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that the last boy I kissed left a bitter taste on my lips and I can't seem to get it off.
It's not that I don't like you.
it's just that I swear to god I can feel his hands on my hips while yours barely make an indent.
It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that he made confetti out of my heart and I've convinced myself I'm not worthy of the help you're willing to offer.
It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I can still taste him and nothing else seems to matter.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that the last boy I kissed left a bitter taste on my lips and I can't seem to get it off.
It's not that I don't like you.
it's just that I swear to god I can feel his hands on my hips while yours barely make an indent.
It's not that I don't like you.
It's just that he made confetti out of my heart and I've convinced myself I'm not worthy of the help you're willing to offer.
It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I can still taste him and nothing else seems to matter.
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