give-m3-head:

You left.
No warning bells
or red flags,
just footsteps
down a now-empty
hall.

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"

(“Let’s stand under a tree,” she said. “Why?” “Because it’s nicer.” “Maybe you should sit on a chair, and I’ll stand above you, like they always do with husbands and wives.” “That’s stupid.” “Why’s it stupid?” “Because we’re not married.” “Should we hold hands?” “We can’t.” “But why?” “Because, people will know.” “Know what?” “About us.” “So what if they know?” “It’s better when it’s a secret.” “Why?” “So no one can take it from us.”)

(“If I had a camera,” I said, “I’d take a picture of you every day. That way I’d remember how you looked every single day of your life.” “I look exactly the same.” “No, you don’t. You’re changing all the time. Every day a tiny bit. If I could, I’d keep a record of it all.” “If you’re so smart, how did I change today?” “You got a fraction of a millimeter taller, for one thing. Your hair grew a fraction of a millimeter longer. And your breasts great a fraction of a-” “They did not!” “Yes, they did.” “Did NOT.” “Did too.” “What else you big pig?” “You got a little happier and also a little sadder.” “Meaning they cancel each other out, leaving me exactly the same.” “Not at all. The fact that you got a little happier today doesn’t change the fact that you also became a little sadder. Every day you become a little more of both, which means that right now, at this exact moment, you’re the happiest and the saddest you’ve ever been in your whole life.” “How do you know?” “Think about it. Have you ever been happier than right now, lying in the grass?” “I guess not. No.” “And have you ever been sadder?” “No.” “It isn’t like that for everyone, you know. Some people, like your sister, just get happier and happier everyday. And some people, like Beyla Asch, just get sadder and sadder. And some people, like you, get both.” “What about you? Are you the happiest and saddest right now that you’ve ever been?” “Of course I am.” “Why?” “Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.”)

" 61 notes

"If you’re dating a writer and they don’t write about you — whether it’s good or bad — then they don’t love you. They just don’t. Writers fall in love with the people we find inspiring." 38,618 notes

"And then my soul saw you and it kind of went, ‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you’." 9,619 notes

"When you decide to die, little things begin to happen. You stop looking both ways before you cross the street, you start answering the door without asking who’s there. You don’t hold onto the railing when you go down the escalator, you play with matches. You smoke, and breathe it in, actually praying it will make a difference. Deciding to die is actually almost nice, in a way. You stop caring. Even if you are not pro-actively looking for ways to kill yourself, you stop looking for ways to survive. " 2,694 notes

"It’s 11 am and I’m sitting in a restaurant
3 beers in. Believe me, even I’m surprised
I’m still alive sometimes.
I have been drinking about you for 2 days.
Lately you remind me of a wild thing
chewing through its foot. But you
are already free and I don’t know what to do
except trace the rough line of your jaw
and try not to place blame.
Here is the truth: It is hard to be in love
with someone who is in love someone else.
I don’t know how to turn that into poetry." 8,208 notes

"You won’t do our things with another girl, or say the same things, will you?" 15,298 notes

writing-away:

isn’t it ironic
how we kill
flowers
because we
think that
they are
beautiful

37,285 notes

"Write hard and clear about what hurts." 12,557 notes

- foolish -

we-drifted-like-worried-fire:

We’ve backtracked again,

Crossed out confident guarantees with callous confessions

Our words seem worthless when we’re only honest for a few heartbeats.

All conversations are void.

—-

I’m sick of all the forgive and forget;

It’s making me feverish with frustration.

I’m tired of coughing out apologies,

Vomiting up clumsy promises we won’t keep.

I’m done with sleepless nights and empty sheets.

We set a standard we’ll never hold one another to.

—-

I don’t know why I thought pretty compliments hidden in prose could form a sturdy shield.

It probably shattered on first strike,

It probably couldn’t stop the first swing.

Did it even deflect a little?

I bet your sword probably slid right through.

This is all assuming my shitty handmade defenses were even raised.

You say it’s framed up on a wall, like a point of pride.

It’s better off in the trash.

I don’t believe in me or you or anyone today.

Saturday nights can’t seem to keep themselves in check.

—-

I’m not sure if I’m angry at you or me;

I just know I made a mistake in thinking I could fix things.

I said I was sorry.

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"Stop ruining love by wanting it so bad." 40,720 notes

smilesareheavythings:

People will say
I write the
surface of
the sea,

that sentences
strung with
semiprecious 
stones mined
from my bones
can’t flow
from veins
like rings 
seeping from
weeping wrists
or tears
crooning from
craters on the moon
because paper
cuts so 
superficially and
poems are only
pinholes through
pupils for silk
and twine,

but I swear
the freckles I wear
were notches
on my spine
and the streams
below my eyes, 
clotheslines
where I once
tried to wring
myself out to
dry.

100 notes