loveLovestrawberry

I won't ever be the girl. No matter how many times I wake up on the faded old couch in your second floor apartment, I won't be the kind of girl you actually want to take home. No matter how much you think you do as you migrate across the room to get closer to me—as if we're magnetic. As if there is some invisible force pulling you to me like gravity. Except I swear to God, there's none of that and I'm less inclined to believe that love works like this. Like it's some tangible thing that we can prove, define or rationalize. Like there really are some invisible strings holding us together. Like people can actually feel something forever.