If you can tell me that one mistake doesn't define who I am, then you should believe that one mistake doesn't define our love.

I believe that. I hope you do. I desperately hope so.

Turning over and over in my head the fact that I asked you last night if we could ever get over this and you refused to answer. Changed the subject. Don't think I didn't notice. And I remember that you were still completely cognizant and determined not to break me. You've still got my back, even now.

I know you, love of mine. I still do.