I was the one who loved you even when you gave me thousands of reasons not to.


(via laaney)

Everything you love is here

(via lovequotesrus)

(Source: myforeverwish, via pante-ao)

136,761 notes

I believe that unfinished things are the loveliest because you keep on wanting them. You crave for them - like this poem. Like the song cut by your mother’s voice calling for breakfast. Like us.

-irishjulienne, our love is a series of ‘to be continued’

(via abstractocogitationes)

287 notes

Leaving you behind was like having my arm amputated. I know it was bruised and broken and fucked up beyond repair and it needed to go, but it was still my fucking arm. It was still you.

-i hope you know this changes nothing

(via nepristupacnost)

(Source: thinly, via pante-ao)

14,189 notes

I remember crying over you and I don’t mean a couple of tears and I’m blue. I’m talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon.

-The Avett Brothers, Tear Down the House (via bl-ossomed)

(Source: aninsignificantlittlespeck, via al-berto)

398,589 notes

Oh believe me it hurts me as much as it hurts you but the difference between our pain is that I accept it so it disappears but you cry about it and cry about it. You can’t stop feeling sorry for yourself but instead you should fucking realize and get the facts straight because even blind man could see my eyes sparkle for you when I see you and even a deaf person could hear my “I love you” louder than you hear it, when you even hear it at all.

-The assurance that I will come back, is as sure as the many rain there falls daily. The many rain we will dance in someday. I will come back, if you let me - 225

(Source: coachela)

1,035 notes

" I am not in love with you. I am in love with the idea of you. If it’s any consolation, you’re the best idea I’ve ever had. I’m sorry. "

January 16th 2013
Dear “you,” that’s what I’ve been referring to you in the poems I write at 3 in the morning. I still can’t say your name. I hope you know that I stopped breathing when you told me you didn’t love me anymore. I hope you know that your words could burn holes through my skin. You could make stars fall from the sky. You could kill me. You could end the world with the way you speak. I hope you come back soon. I’m starting to get lightheaded. I miss you I miss you. I’m so sorry.

February 3rd 2013
Dear you,
my letter must’ve gotten lost in the mail and that’s why you haven’t responded. That’s what I keep telling myself but I know it’s not true. I know you read it. I’ve seen it a million times in my head. You just got home from school and you’re sitting on your bed listening to The Strokes, ignoring the fact that they were my favorite band, and your mother comes upstairs and hands you my letter and you leave it on your bedside table, the one that you hide your cigarettes in, and you glance over at it a few times before you finally decide to read it. and your eyes skim over at it and your head starts to hurt a little, but not enough to make a difference, not enough to make you love me again. I wish you would write back. I’m tired of writing letters to a ghost.

April 19th 2013
Dear you,
You called me last night. Oh god. Your voice. I missed your voice. You were slurring your words when you asked how I’ve been and I tried to keep my hands from shaking. I swear to god when you told me you missed me I felt my heart slam into my ribs. I almost passed out. I think I’m going crazy. I still love you. Every part of me still loves you. Your name is always stuck in my throat and I keep your smile under my fingertips and I can’t forget you. I tried to swallow pills to get you out but I just got dizzy. I tried to wash my hands with vodka but it didn’t work.

September 4th 2013
Dear you,
I kissed a boy last night. He tasted like sugar and he grabbed my hips and I liked it a lot. I don’t miss you anymore.

September 5th 2013
Dear you,
I still miss you like crazy.

October 17th 2013
Dear you,
My mom told me to stop writing to you. She says I’ll never move on if I’ve always got you on the tip of my tongue and I’m spending too much on stamps. I don’t want to taste you anymore so this is my last letter.

October 17th 2013
Dear you,
never mind.

November 9th 2013 
Dear you,
I was over you until I held hands with the boy who lives down the street and tasted glass in my mouth. Jesus fuck you’re in my veins and bleeding out can’t fix me. I’ve tried.

January 16th 2014
I can say your name now.

-letters to the boy who broke my heart  (via extrasad)

(via 2amconversations)

12,388 notes


” Do you know how many fucking times I’ve cried for you?”

I’m not graceful and I’m far from the word ‘sweet’. I swear way too much, and have a significant amount of hate inside of me that is knocking on my insides demanding to be felt. My negativity gets the best of me most days, and I find myself falling into my old patterns. Too often I have to force myself to cry, just so I can feel something more than regret. I drink way too much alcohol, and kiss way too many boys just to distract myself from falling less to you. I avoid every fear of mine and leave everything to the last minute. I can lie as easy as I can tell the truth, even to myself. I wear too much makeup and spray too much perfume. I crave your attention but will deny it when you give it to me and I’ll find it close to impossible to trust you, seeing as I can’t trust myself.
I’m a prime example of what not to fall in love with, and I can’t change.

-(via laur-a)

(via sexcake)

1,817 notes

You just like the idea of me. You like the person I present myself under circumstances that I can control. I choose what I say and how I say things. It’s like being attracted to a fictional character in a book. They are scripted and made up. If you think about it, through writings, we all script and make ourselves up. I don’t share the person I become when I am upset. I don’t show you how I look like when I sleep. I don’t tell you about all the times I’ve made someone cry. All the guilty things I’ve done and the bad thoughts I’ve had.

-Han (via ruffclub)

(Source: kimjongtheillestt, via danger)

94,683 notes

One day I woke up
and we no longer spoke
the same language.
I haven’t heard from you since.

-Where did you go?, Hishaam Siddiqi (via yadounya)

(Source: la-rinascente, via dying-is-an-art-im-doin-it-well)

199,464 notes