our „us" we own is fragile, I can't think of a life without it
but at times I can't stop myself from worrying: will I be able to love you throughout this?
I tend to be rough at times, but still I feel like I'm the one who is loving you more
sure - often it has irrational reasons, but aren't most relationships like a drugstore?
it smells different, depending which aisle you're walking through
sometimes like vinegar mixed with honey, that's what I call "the jealousy spoor"
trust me, I'd like to believe, that I'll be enough for you
for a lifetime
but please, reassure me that it's true
otherwise I'll only see the outline
