He’s never been mine, and probably won’t ever be,“ I pause, "And I suppose it could be a great thing, in some cases, because getting my hopes up for someone or imagining myself happy always leads to heartbreak.” “But there’s this part of me that can’t help and think about what it’d be like to hold his hand or make him smile even on his worst days,” I tell the universe, “It must be such a warm feeling when you see him smile and it’s because of what you had done.” I run my fingers through the grass I have been laying in and feel the cool breeze lace itself in my hair. “I feel he’s a murderer,” I speak, “Maybe not physically, but I do believe he’s killed me once before mentally and now I’m just a ghost, following in my old footsteps, trying to find where I went wrong.
E. Grin // excerpt from a book i might write (via written-in-pen)
