Sometimes your mouth tastes like cigarettes, but I’ve never bothered to ask if you smoke.
Sometimes when you say something nice, I don’t say anything at all, but you’ve never asked me what’s wrong.
It’s funny because questions are your thing.
Somethings are maybe better left unsaid.
I don’t want you to be a smoker, so I haven’t asked. Does that mean that you don’t ask what’s wrong because you don’t want to know? The words left unsaid are heavy in my mouth. I want you to know that it’s okay to not know what you want, but I want you to want me.
I will forever accept less than I deserve.