Until You

Girlfriend isn’t enough to describe you, Tate. That term is disposable. You’re not my girlfriend, my girl, or my woman. You’re. Just. Mine,” I bit out every syllable, so she would fucking understand. “And I’m yours,” I added, a little calmer.

Now, I could go on about mommy didn’t love me and daddy hit me, but who doesn’t have a story, right?” I asked. “There are times when we can blame a situation on others, but we own our reactions to them. There comes a point where we are the ones responsible for our choices and excuses don’t carry weight anymore.

I love you more than myself,” I told her, “more than my own family, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want to take another step in this world without you next to me.

You’re poisonous, toxic, bad for my health. You’re greedy, sly, way too stealth. You hurt me, use me, mistreat and abuse me. But your apologetic eyes, As you tell your lies, Draw me back in, And I forgive every sin. I take you back, Your love is my crack. I’m clearly a masochist, You’re my personal terrorist. My tormentor, My lover, My bully, My friend.

It’s the moment when you know that you can have what you want if you’re only brave enough to say so. It’s a split second when everything can change, but you pussy out because you’re too afraid to risk the rejection.

I want to touch you,” I whispered against her lips. “I want to feel what’s mine. What’s always been mine

You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. I loved all of those things, and I loved you. But now…you’re a fucking drought. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.

You have every right not to trust me, Tate. I know that. My fucking heart is ripping open right now. I can’t stand the way you’re looking at me. I could never hurt you again. Please…let’s try to fix this together.

Oh baby", Madoc groaned to the girl next to him. "Snickers ain't the only thing king sized.

My heart only beat for her, and I’d rather spend my life hating, loving, fucking, and breathing her than losing her.

That’s the thing about change. It can be gradual. Slow and almost unnoticeable. Or it can be sudden, and you don’t even know how you could’ve been any other way.

There were two kinds of stupid. Stupid people that got drunk and humped trees, and stupid people that just humped trees.

I’ve wanted you for so long,” I whispered against her mouth. “All the times I’d see you next door…it drove me crazy

There are times when we can blame a situation on others, but we own our reactions to them. There comes a point where we are the ones responsible for our choices and excuses don’t carry weight anymore.

I can’t change the past, Tate. I wish I could, because I’d go back and relive every day that I existed without you, and I’d make sure that you smiled.” My eyes burned with regret, and I saw the pools in her beautiful blues, too. “Every minute of my future belongs to you.

Girlfriend isn’t enough to describe you, Tate. That term is disposable. You’re not my girlfriend, my girl, or my woman. You’re. Just. Mine,

She stared at me, almost amused. “You’ve already made me cry countless times.” And she raised her middle finger to me. “Do you know what this is?” she asked as she took it and patted the corner of her eye with it. “It’s me, wiping away the last tear you’ll ever get.

The first thing that came to mind was an angel. Her hair flowing and shiny. Her legs dangling, long and smooth. She looked perfect where she was, like a painting. And then I remembered that Satan was also an angel.

I know I can make this up to you. Don’t hate me.

I’ll do anything to be good for you, Tate.” “Anything, baby,” I promised. “Anything?” she laughed out, her eyes bright with happiness and love. “Have you ever considered a nipple piercing?

The point is some people think they have a leading role when, really, they're just supporting cast.

Maybe that's the thing I'd been missing about love. You don't withhold it or partition it out when it's deserved. You can't control it like that.

Gotta love a woman that can hand you your own ass.

Becoming hard at heart isn’t an intersection in your brain where you have a choice to turn left or right. It’s coming to a dead end, and you just keep going, over the cliff, unable to stop the inevitable, because the truth is you just don’t want to.

K.C. reminded me of that blonde chick on The Vampire Diaries that runs around acting like every problem in the entire universe has something to do with her.

I call it the “Fuck up, own up, and get up” policy. Make a mistake, admit it, and move on. We all screw up, but a man solves his problems. He doesn’t make them worse.

She’d look at me, and I’d stop dead in my tracks, never wanting to leave that moment. Do you know what that’s like?” I scanned the audience. “Day in and day out, you’re thrilled to be alive and experience a million moments of love and happiness that constantly compete with each other. Every day was better than the last.

Tate always loved the rain. She came alive in it, and I hadn't been able to enjoy seeing her like this in years. Part of me always wondered what magic she saw in thunderstorms, and part of me didn't need to know. Just watching her was like hearing music in my head.

That’s the thing about change. It can be gradual. Slow and almost unnoticeable. Or it can be sudden, and you don’t even know how you could’ve been any other way. Becoming hard at heart isn’t an intersection in your brain where you have a choice to turn left or right. It’s coming to a dead end, and you just keep going, over the cliff, unable to stop the inevitable, because the truth is you just don’t want to. There is freedom in the fall.