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
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
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
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
I still miss you like crazy.
October 17th 2013
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
November 9th 2013
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)
I’m a prime example of what not to fall in love with, and I can’t change.
-Han (via ruffclub)
and we no longer spoke
the same language.
I haven’t heard from you since.
-Where did you go?, Hishaam Siddiqi (via yadounya)
I promise to love you:
at 6 am when you’re waking
to go to work, to school, or whatever
road life takes you on;
and when you didn’t sleep well,
your hair is a mess
and your eyes are sleepy.
at 8 am when we say goodbye
for the day and you’re rushing
out the door with a cup
of black coffee, after finishing
a morning cigarette
when your lips taste like
caffeine and nicotine.
at 3 pm when you’re exhausted
from the day and people have
worn you out and you feel like
sighing, crying, and falling asleep
and escaping in afternoon dreams.
I will kiss your forehead,
and wrap myself in your arms.
at 10 pm when you’re heading to bed,
even though you won’t sleep for hours
and you’ll flip through all the channels
tired of dismal newscasts and re-runs.
Especially when we become a human knot
wrapped up in sheets and kisses
at 3 am when loneliness and sadness
do not destroy you, but consume you
and when you weep without an explanation
I’ll kiss your lips, softly and
tell you you’re the absolute best.
When we talk about life
and why winter kills the flowers.
I will love you when you grow old,
I will love you even after that
I will love you if I’m no longer here
I will love you
I will love you
and I will love you.
-I promise to love you forever (for Louis) by Amanda Katherine Ricketson (via natsomethingg)
-six word story, #18 (via fawun)
People always say that it hurts at night
and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am
is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken.
it’s 9am on a tuesday morning
and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up
And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much
you don’t know what to do with your hands.
-On Missing Them, Rosie Scanlan (via wethinkwedream)