Which only means that maybe September won't be so cruel when she comes. I am a waltz at an autumn wedding not my own, my 3/4 time makes you stop to smell the flowers in my hair. I'm falling backwards but you're holding my hands and the room and I are both spinning. I hope to die, I take a deep breath, right there in that moment before I read the epilogue and know the ending is not what I had planned.
He told me that the reason I had never fallen in love like I expected to (the fireworks-when-we-met / can’t-think-stop-thinking-of-you-day-and-night / you’re-the-one-who-completes-me type of love) was because it didn't exist, because men like him created that illusion of love to sell pantyhose.
I still am not sure if I believe him.
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