You used to think that love was something that kept you warm at night, but
it’s more like a dog that bites your hand before it takes off running down the street.
You never pet that dog again,
But sometimes you see it at the end of someone else’s leash as you’re walking down the street.
You avoid eye contact, and you wonder whether or not that dog tells its owner about that time it bit you,
or if it tells its owner that you were the one who took the first bite, or if it likes to pretend it never met you, or if it even remembers you.
You’ll always remember.
a collection of words 