Thursday, 2 November 2017

# bad boys # girlhood

when bad boys finish last


I looked into his eyes for the very first time that night and all he could tell me was maybe. That maybe we'd get high on a New York City rooftop in July, and become each other's undercover lover. That maybe we'd fly to Paris, and get higher than the Eiffel Tower. Then I thought to myself that maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe he loves you, but maybe you'll never know. Maybe I'm sick of leather jackets and cigarettes, the predictable excitement of your sociopathic ways. Look at me now, and tell me whose freer. Look at me now, and to tell me whose living it faster. Maybe I'm just young and I don't know what I want, but maybe that's okay, because maybe one day I will. I looked into his eyes for the very first time that night, and all I could think was maybe I'm just not that into you, and maybe bad boys finish last. 

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