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“Now that I think about it, haunting isn’t the word. The boy who claimed he hated love songs wrote and sang one so accurate, so accurate that it mirrored everything my brother lectured me about what love should be. He persuaded me to betray my own logic and fall for him. Hard. And yet, falling for him is slipping from a cliff, hurtling to my supposed death, but holding onto a semi-sturdy edge with shaking fingers. Just as soon as I thought we may be headed for a happy ending” — Allyson Kennedy
Now that I think about it, haunting isn’t the word. The boy who claimed he hated love songs wrote and sang one so accurate, so accurate that it mirrored everything my brother lectured me about what love should be. He persuaded me to betray my own logic and fall for him. Hard. And yet, falling for him is slipping from a cliff, hurtling to my supposed death, but holding onto a semi-sturdy edge with shaking fingers. Just as soon as I thought we may be headed for a happy ending