I was once on the edge, but I stepped safely down.
It's been 2 years.
He's better.
I'm better.
We're better.
I love him.
I think he loves me.
He proposed.
I said yes.
I paint my nails.
He likes it.
I hold him in public.
We have sex, sometimes.
We don't talk about that day.
We don't even bring it up.
I wear earrings.
I like crop tops. And skinny jeans.
I can rock a pair of heels.
I'm happy.
I think he's happy.
We have secrets.
That not many know of.
I'm glad I didn't know what I was getting into.
Because if I did,
I don't think I'd be laying here.
I don't think I'd be laying next to Phil.
I don't think I would be able to hold him.
Run my fingers through his hair.
Draw small circles in his back.
Pinch his bum.
Kiss him.
Hug him.
Cuddle him.
Fuck him.
Straddle him.
Play with him.
Eat with him.
Smile at him.
Wink at him.
Blush from him.
Defend him.
Feel him.
Fall in love with him.
Praise him.
Hope for him.
Pray for him.
Grab him.
Moan at him.
If I knew what the fuck I had been doing,
I wouldn't love him.
Fuck the edge, I'm 5 miles away.
—
Ever been in a fight?
Lol no. Not unless slapping counts.
