We were never poetry, we were never metaphors. We were a state of organized chaos. We were never the things that people write songs about or someone says, 'That. I want that.' We were the laundry piling up on the couch because no one bothered to put it away and dirty footprints on the tile because it was more fun to go out in the rain without shoes. We were cheap wine that led to headaches and sand in the hairline that scrapes at the scalp in the shower. We were blackouts at 4 AM and hangovers that lasted until next week. We were far from perfect and settled somewhere more in the indescribable uncomfortable world. But through it all, through all of the wrinkled shirts and red wine stained teeth framing ever imperfection, we were love.