𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 ✔

🌻 | 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

i.

I told you to wear your seatbelt.

ii.

We had an argument.

You told me to never come near you again;

I said that you'd die without my touch.

You left me on read. I deleted your contact on my phone;

then, tossed, twisted, turned in restless sleep.

iii.

You stood in front of the mirror;

fingers ghosting over the scar on your palm.

We made a blood pact behind that shed;

don't you remember?