That hurt, that hurt of, an almost relationship. You gave another person a piece of you, and he gave you false hopes, high hopes, damn near a heartbreak. All this emotional stress for a nigga, who had the perception of a gentleman, but the heart of a savage. He wanders upon the realm of this new attention level, and ponders upon the grace of reality. She yearns for answers and his response is a lackadaisical, "there was never a right time to tell the truth. It woulda ruined to many good moments."
This situationship infuriates her as this shit happens again. Social media becomes her best friend as she spews her biased reviews, of the perception of what she thought was a good man. Unable to satisfy her emotionally, sexually doesn't cover the cost anymore. He pays with good, ha, that good, you know when you want him to come over late night run the booty, and ease into your spot. And she pays with the thought of love, coming closer and closer with the feeling of love.
Head on his chest, while his head is on the rest. Wondering of one who can give him what he wants nextHe juggles her feelings as if they there mere tennis shoes that looks he at in the morning when he decides on which pair he wants to be seen in. You are simply a item; he chooses who and when he wants be caught with. She weighs upon the thought of this behavior being okay, simply only when he's on top of her, and puts that baby soft voice on and whispers and your ear.