Heās like silk sheets with one loose thread that you canāt help but pull at, hopelessly trying to make it perfect again. He walks like a wild fire with no particular destination but he never fails to step back inside the walls of my heart. when it comes to promises heās not the best at Ā keeping them stowed away but iād dance on the ashes of every whispered word we spoke at midnight for a chance to feel his hands scorching pathways down my skin. sometimes if you sit next to him in silence you can hear the blood beating through his veins and i imagine it must drive him insane, how alive he is. heās every bit of insanity that i never found comfort in in myself, but through his trembling hands it doesnāt seem so bad. Heās a little bit like shattered glass that you run your fingertips along the edge of just to see if youāre still alive, never failing to end with a cut. heās got a peculiar characteristic, in one moment heās worth more than witnessing the last shooting star to ever be seen and the next youād rather be anywhere in this painful world but inside the palms of his hands. his heart is relative to the dark side of the moon as iāve never gotten a good look at it but iām still sure itās there, waiting for someone to make it past his stupid mouth that wonāt quit coming up with words words for how worried he is that heāll break you into pieces. He will. heās a barely lit cigarette waiting to be stubbed out by someone who cares enough to put his out of his misery, but darling iām just not that girl. if i could, iād pluck his heart from his chest to keep in my pocket for safe keeping just in case he decides heās had enough of this whole āloveā thing. heās made to be fallen in love with, and heās also the boy my mother always tried to warn me about. trust me that iād wish iād listened.
andulkaphoto
janainaart
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
