I always thought leaving you would leave me a shattered mess that no one would ever be able to sweep up and glue back together. And I was, for a week. In a week, the sadness ebbed away. I stopped checking your page. I stopped crying every time a song played that we used to dance to. A year and a half, slipping away in a mere week. I had started sweeping myself up.
Of course, I jumped at the chance of you taking me back, because I hadn’t stopped loving you. But on nights like these, when the excitement of your returning affection fades away and the old subtle hints of insecurity resurface, I dont remember why I decided to try this again.