Time didnât stop when he left. Blame it on my youth, my heart, ripe as the peaches in my grandmaâs orchard, but I thought that it would. I thought that wood would splinter, bricks would crack, that the foundation of this house he haunts would revolt and leave me buried in its foundation. I thought that I would die before I hurt him. Thought, thought, thought. What a stupid thing. I love you, what an useless word. There were no I love youâs left when the sobs echoed through the phone line, like lightning in my veins. None left when I asked him to choose, and he chose to let go. Moth laughter floated drunkenly on the other end of the line, and when I hung up, my family was still debating what to cook for dinner. The sun was still setting. The same thighs he used to kiss walked me out the door. The same hands he used to hold wrecked havoc on canvas. The boy, who made time stop when he touched me, hadnât halted it with his goodbye.
Elisa V, The Boy Who Couldnât Steal Time (via inkchantments) my friend elisa just knocks it out of the park yet again (via thingsmyxxxsaid)
