hopeful romantic

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝟐𝟖𝟗 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞…

[crimesofapoet]

Remember when you wanted what you currently have

[crimesofapoet]

She lives the poetry she cannot write.

[crimesofapoet]

We have two lives, and the second begins when we realise we only have one.

[crimesofapoet]

Her story is not just crimson pomegranates, all of the splendour of spring bends her will. But the floral maiden also sends shudders of fear with one delicate footstep through all of hell.

She reigns over the birth of flowers and gentle beings, raises baby birds in her lap, and with fawns she plays.

She reigns over demons and demise alike and before her fury, even death himself pales.

[crimesofapoet]

the secret is not to chase butterflies, but to take care of the garden so they’ll come to you.

[crimesofapoet]

you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm

[crimesofapoet]

your soul is what makes you attractive

[crimesofapoet]

i admire the way you see the good in everyone.

[crimesofapoet]

I am bound to you forever. We are matching tattoos and secrets never said out loud. The kind of friendship we only see in script.

[crimesofapoet]

can you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and admit that you are no different from every other bundle of bones on the planet?

[crimesofapoet]

divinity will stain your fingers and mouth like a pomegranate. it will swallow you whole and spit you out, wine-dark and and wanting. you will reach for it again and again, greedy human fingers clutching everything you can reach. the divine will curl its way through your veins and take you over, and it will leave you quietly.

[crimesofapoet]

she looked like a religious icon, like somebody you’d sacrifice yourself for.

[crimesofapoet]

i’m tired of the people who make me feel like i’m missing a piece of myself

[crimesofapoet]

if you asked me now who i am, the only answer i could give with any certainty would be my name. for the rest: my loves, my hates, down to even my deepest desires, i can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or are stolen from those i once so desperately wished to be.

[crimesofapoet]

nostalgia is a paradox of irrevocability, a desire for not only the place of one’s past, but for its memories in real time, for their return to populate the present.

[crimesofapoet]

last night i dreamt that you were beside me and that everything was perfect and nothing would ever go wrong again but when i woke up sweating i felt something shatter deep inside of me i don’t know what happened last night it was like a nightmare but i loved it

[crimesofapoet]

somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. each half glowing and beating under all that white.