bpd is a douchebag.

I know I am just a friend to you. I know I never will be yours. And you will never be mine. I will never be enough. You are too good for me.

And however I am lying in bed, imaging how you hold my hand while we walk through the park and how you kiss my forehead before you leave to work. I imagine us lying in bed on a lazy Sunday, cuddling, kissing, making out instead of paying any attention to Netflix. I imagine how we go to Ikea, buying furniture for our way too small flat. But with you it's the perfect home. I imagine how we adopt a puppy, or three, and tell our friends about it like we just gave birth to our first child. I imagine our wedding. Everyone expects us to be nervous but we could not be happier... I imagine how I'll bring you tea and your favourite meal when you're ill, and you rub my back when I had a rough day at work. I imagine how I sleep in your sweaters when you are gone and how safe I feel when I fall asleep in your arms.