there are beautiful moments spent with you that i keep replaying in my head. over and over and over again. ive picked them apart so, that theyve started to drift through the fingers of memory and time
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@bonestosoul
there are beautiful moments spent with you that i keep replaying in my head. over and over and over again. ive picked them apart so, that theyve started to drift through the fingers of memory and time
do you ever keep away from situations with a specific person just because you know how hurt youd be with their guaranteed reaction?
yeah, that thought right there
thats what careless words do. they make people love you a little less
i am half agony, half hope
the actions you sow now are the feelings you reap at your neediest
it was better to be unknown and wishful than to meet and break over wishes
i think i left a long time ago. stopped looking around the corners, stopped holding my phone close, stopped smiling at pictures and stopped holding out a candle for all the time meant to be put in.
its fading, the light of adoration is fading & this carelessness is the culprit of your denied wish.
partnered yet partnerless. and that is the lesson of life. some learn early & some learn late. some still hope but i dont
joy, life, love, pain and everything in between
to each his own
i fell in love with a song today.
i didn’t send it to you.
we don’t do those things anymore.
why do i not ask you to say something nice anymore? is this for me to think something about or for you to do something about?
i don’t know who you are, i don’t know where you’ve been. when my bell never rings, my heart sees a stranger
Hope is a tricky thing. It helps you keep alive yet kills you slowly.
time is the upend-er of every thing nice. like you and i. none from you and all of mine.
how can a cocaine addict leave so easy?
i swallow so many shards of disappointment now. i wonder how invisible can a bled out person be. how put together can a walking dead look.
I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me; all day I feel it’s soft, feathery turnings, it’s malignity.
- Sylvia Plath