He wasn’t the perfect boy.
He wasn’t the perfect boyfriend either.
Or the perfect person. He didn’t say all the right things.
He didn’t make all the right moves.
I still remember what he tastes like.
I smell him all over my body.
I feel all the worry, stress, and confusion, of the war raging in my head weave themselves into a crease between my eyebrows.
And no, I don’t want to listen to love songs.
He wasn’t the perfect boy.
He wasn’t the perfect boyfriend either.
Or the perfect person.
And yes, im falling for him, this imperfect version of my own twisted perfection.