i’m really not this jaded
True love is like ironing a shirt: you wear it out, it wrinkles, you iron all the wrinkles out, you wear it out, it wrinkles, you iron all the wrinkles out, you wear it out, it wrinkles, your friends ask why the eff you’ve been wearing the same shirt for three days, you iron the wrinkles out, you wear the shirt out, the shirt complains that you never do anything new but doesn’t offer any new ideas, it wrinkles, your friends don’t talk to you any more, you iron the wrinkles out, the shirt gets mad when you say maybe you should wear another shirt, you wear the shirt out again, it wrinkles, you iron it out aggressively and burn a hole through it and now everything is your fault.
