Sometimes I ponder about the fact that after everything, I still couldn't call you my boyfriend.
But also I'm cold and pleasantly drunk and I went to cafe nineteen and was served by the waitress you thought was so hot, and I remember all my reservations and why I never would have wanted a boyfriend to disrespect me like that. So maybe it's sad on two counts. Pyrrhic victories all around. Tha k god for autocorrect