[vexheart]

[bunnyspeaking]

I keep hoping to hear his tyres coming up the driveway.

But they never come.

There is no explanation coming.

No apology.

No change.

No tyres, no knock at the door.

And I am tired.

Not from today.

Not tired from this argument.

Tired from carrying hope.

Tired from believing the next conversation will be different.

Tired from explaining.

Tired from waiting.

Tired from trying to convince someone that losing me should matter.

I don’t know whether he loves me.

I don’t know what he is thinking.

I don’t know if he’s ashamed, angry, avoiding me, or simply waiting.

What I do know is that I am sitting on a bathroom floor.

Crying.

And he is not here.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

no matter how normalised it gets I will die on the hill that it is rude to record strangers in public without their consent

[ectorotica]

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from True Stories: Poems; "Variations of the word Love," originally published in 1981

[mournfulroses]

Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a diary entry featured in Rapture & Melancholy; The Diaries of Edna St. Vincent Millay

[free-my-mindd]

[florifer]

tell me

[bunnyspeaking]

all roads lead back to the loneliness i felt as a child

[carolsturka]

[dpurar]

Favorite hobby? Sleeping to avoid being alive.

[plumgall]

[wetheurban]

"I'm sure about you" is a love language.

[cithaerons]

Leila Chatti, Night Lament in Hergla 

[paper-wounds]

via

[thisobscuredesireforbeauty]

I Am Waiting Dir. Koreyoshi Kurahara, 1957). Source

[evergreen-pumpkin]

not to sound like an early 2000s pop punk band, but I need to get out of this town