My thighs touch. My thighs touch a lot more than I’d like them to. But as it turns out, the one person in the entire world whose opinion on my physical appearance I actually give a shit about likes my thighs. So I guess I’ll do what I can to try and accept them, too.
That moment when you question if your whole entire relationship was a lie.
Even if that relationship was just, “We’re obviously mutually attracted to each other. We should give it a go. I like you, you like me. I want to make you happy.”
Because even that is a whole lot better than, “You’re the chick I fuck between girlfriends.”
Like… my life.