Falling.
He wrote eight drafts of "will you go to prom with me?" and I couldn't help but say yes.
He wrote eight drafts of "will you go to prom with me?" and I couldn't help but say yes.
He wouldn't let me kill myself the night he told me he didn't love me, but he never called after that to see if I was still alive.
I thought a boy was inviting me to a dance when he was really just calling to see if I could take his shift at work.
When I looked over at him sleeping, half-naked, next to me, my only wish was that he was happy where we were, because I was going no further.