"if you're capable of making choices that knowingly hurts the other person, that's not love."
 

—

"it was two years ago, right?", jennie sipped her coffee. she doesn't like tea, because i like tea.

"exactly two years ago", i replied.

jennie is scrolling through her phone- her body physically here; her mind elsewhere. it’s a horrifying feeling knowing that someone is slipping through your fingers and you can’t do anything about it.

“don’t do that, i hate it when you do that”, i hate it when she puts her feet on the table when we’re outside. 

it’s scary that the things you like about someone from the moment you two met are also the things that would slowly develop into unbearable incompatibility.

“you loved it before, you said it makes you feel like you’re dating a badass. besides, you told me my legs are my asset in football", she answered without thinking twice.

their stubborness that once arouses your senses are now a crippling symptom of a mental disorder.

the way they chew their food loudly was once cute; now, an annoying habit.

“i’m turning 18, i’m suddenly mature”, i know it’ll make her smile— it didn’t.

“you’re just turning 18, don’t make it a big deal”, she said, nonchalantly.

how did we end up here? what have we done to each other?

“what are you doing?”, i said, trying to hold on to the grip she’s trying to get out of.

“nothing. just voicing out what