And just like that, she felt alright.
He loved her, and it didn't matter in which way.

I fall in love with sad people, I fall in love with broken houses, and the fact that one day we might have to drink our selves to sleep. 

I thought I didn't have room in my chest for someone like you, I hate that I was wrong because I swore I didn't have room left, because of him.
You crept your way into my home and you found my heart, you held it and I fell.
I hate that you kiss me and that the thought of you leaving isn't ok.
Our love is depression and hormones, it's the smell of perfume and the taste of cigarettes.

It's talks till 5am and "love making" with clothes on.

It's telling each other how bad we suck at relationships but burying ourselves into each other till we can hear our bones scraping together and we can feel the ache of our hearts fighting each other.
I want to hold you during your worst days, I want to tell you how much I adore you and how much I love the idea that we might not last.
I was happy with being in love with someone who didn't love me back, I was alright with writing about the same old thing, retelling stories about him to small crowds.
I miss my nights with him, I miss the way he messed with my head and the way his hands felt.
But I love our nights together and the movies we don't really watch.
I love that you sing songs against my lips and that we can talk about everything.
I love the way your skin feels against mine.
I love the idea that you may not want me as much as I want you.
I'm not going to say I love you.
I don't think I love you, but i'm worried that one day I might.