Memory is a funny thing.

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i. I know you felt guilty for the pressure- you said so yourself six months down the line, as though that was something you could apologise for. My mouth murmured, that’s okay. My mind whispered, no it is not. But on the day I recall my body moaned, let’s do it again. Memory is a funny thing.

ii. I do believe I am falling in love with you. What pretty words. Though, I can’t help but wonder over your definition of the word… love, in my eyes, senses discontent, does not deal with disgust, is divorced from distaste. 
iii. We cared as little as each other. I cared enough to not even want. I cared enough to not even want to say no. I sense another problem there.

iv. I could lose my mind over you.


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