we're all liars in our terms. ‎ ‎she have her reasons, her own side of lies and truths. but you just have to tease out things she didn't know exist in herself, do you? ‎ ‎she didn’t mean to fixate on you. but here we are, married, lived in under the same roof. and she can't believe she really did. she's not the type to settle, but maybe its the ring that got herself where she was— that idea of wearing that beautiful ring on her finger, experience the events, scenes a wedding have, wear a white dress, walk down the aisle and exchange vows with you — it's a dream come true. ‎ ‎but things got boring. maybe it's just her, maybe it's you. she don't know, and she can't blame anyone. maybe it's her fault, but maybe it's yours, too. to make things easy, we both have problems. and she's mature enough to anticipate that before walking down that aisle. ‎ ‎but why do we look so much worse? ‎ ‎she could've left. you could've, too—but you stayed. and she does, too. that’s the part she couldn't wrap her head around. you stayed, pushes back, make her work for it, make her slam back at you and do whatever unfaithfulness she wanted; be with another person, make you want her as bad as she does you. ‎ ‎she's addicted. you're addictive. ‎ ‎slipping her hands to your waist, pressing a small kiss against your back. “let's go to bed?” she murmurs and stands on the tip of her toes, her lips hovers just above the skin of your nape, to savor you a moment longer, doesn't matter if she stain your collar with her red lipstick.