It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

(via tahom)
You had me at a point where I would’ve left the entire world behind for you. —

2:03am, I really loved you that much. (via tahom)

I still would.

(via stayinsclitude)

Anonymous whispered: its kinda about a guy..

Oukay What is it ?

Anonymous whispered: I have erm... a problem.

What Tell me we can fix it 😄

5:42 AM
In my bed
Smoking cigarette
Isnt life pointless ?

s-g-e:

flowertlanticism:

avocae:

Matt Corby ladies and gentleman

My baby 😍

Ah so much love

She is not “my girl.”

She belongs to herself. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.

How much more blessed can I be?

Avraham Chaim, Thoughts after The Alchemist (via petitedino)

 

(via whatsyourdamagee)

and he’ll never know
that I wrote that
all for him —he may never even see it (via teenagetension)
What did I love about you?
I don’t want to be an uneasy poetic cliché at a poetry reading,
but Jesus Christ was there anything I didn’t love about you?
Nothing, I loved..
Everything.
Absolutely, fucking, everything.
When you first spoke to me-..
Holy, shit.
My heart was racing so fast it felt like my veins were about to burst with blood replaced by ink and script gorgeous poetry right into my bedroom walls.
Breathing was such an unfamiliar practice around you,
and I couldn’t believe you had a name that I had the luxury of rolling off of my tongue, a hand to hold tightly, a heart to hold sweetly,
You had a smile that shined so bright that I was convinced sunrise has been never-ending since we first met.
You had a laugh that pierced every single demon in the heart and blossomed beautiful flowers across my fragile chest.
We intertwined fingers, the world our canvas, every movement painting something unfathomably picturesque.
When you-
When you.. fuck.
When you told me you loved me back,
there was no other soul existing in that moment, your lips curved at the edges and your cheeks blushed rose red.
Every single second in my lifetime could have passed slowly
and I wouldn’t have even noticed, I was so confided in something that just looked past me like I was nothing but a ghost in the snow and my expression of love has been run into the ground.
This is just a three minute heart spill that doesn’t even pierce the surface of what I love about you, you’re gone now,
and I want you back so bad.. —Hayden Cooper - “I wrote this for a poetry slam it’s called “What did I love about you?”  (via fuckinq)
You’re the cure and probably the source of my pain —His description (via paleladise)
We’re only here briefly. And while I’m here, I want to allow myself joy. So fuck it. —Amy (Her, 2013)

illumahottie:

Hey guys, hope your skin is clear and you get a text from someone you like real soon.

aausten