As long as the music is loud enough.

We won't hear the world fall apart.

I've never been one to complain about the little things, but boy you're out of line. Either step up your game or back down for good.

She's just a typical teenage girl: Angry, insecure, confused. She wants you to tell her things will be okay. But she hates being lied too.

She looks at her phone; no missed calls.

People have given up on her

and she has given up on people.

My thoughts tend to sound better in books i didn't write, and in the songs I didn't sing. Even then, sometimes their is no piece of literature, no song, no work of art that can really explain the way you feel. There is a double edge comfort in knowing that no one really knows.

He's solid.

"You're fractured."

He's hopeful.

"You're hopeless."

He's always there.

"You're half there."

He's faithful.

"You're so not."

He's giving.

"You're afraid to give."

He's honest.

"You lie all the time."

He's loving.

"You don't know how to love."