“I’m sorry, I’ll do better.” I apologise, grabbing the bottom half of your dress to keep you from walking out of the door once again. “I promise, I know I’ve said it before but I’ll be so much better.” I plead, my eyes staring into yours.

We’ve been back and forth since 2012, constantly running back to eachother somehow. It’s a really difficult situation to be in, especially when we’ve split up six times now. Crazy. I know. It always seems to be my fault, you always get mad when I slip up just a little.

I’m 20 years old and everyone has their needs. I tried to make a move on you and you seriously didn’t seem to like it. You’ve never been a physical touch person, I think you prefer sweet talk over anything. I’m only just learning that now, it seems.

“Please, babe. I’m sorry.” My hands stay bunching up your dress in the most innocent way, trying to keep you with me.