@gravity151 - Tumblr Blog

I used to think I wrote my own story, but then my skin became the paper and your hands became the pen, and soon I was far beneath the surface drowning in ink. I had just become another story, and I was finally too much for you to read. Thats when you set down the pen. That’s when you washed your ink stained wrists and walked away. That’s when you decided you wouldn’t waste another moment trying to comprehend the patternless stains you had left on me.

parlances (via wnq-writers)

wnq-writers

Maybe it was never you that I was in love with, but our story.

theslorenextdoor (via wnq-writers)

thegirlwhocrieswolf

New piece, hope you like it! xo Lang

…………….

My NEW book Memories is now available via Amazon, BN.com + The Book Depository and bookstores worldwide. ♡♡♡ Remember to tag your book selfies with #langleav so I can check them out! ♡♡♡

wnq-writers

I enjoy being told I’m beautiful, who doesn’t ? But if you want to really flatter me, tell me I’m intelligent, tell me I’m thoughtful and kind,tell me I’m genuine. I was given my beauty, but I created who I am.

Amanda M (via wnq-writers)

wnq-writers

I long to be  fiercely admired and fiercely desired.

owhatfoolsthesemortalsbe (via wnq-writers)

zodiacmind

Fun facts about your sign here

wnq-writers

It’s so much easier to keep things to myself. No one besides me gets hurt that way.

fadingoutfast (via wnq-writers)

wnq-writers

Thank you for making me forget what it’s like to be loved, What it’s like to be wanted. Thank you for making me forget what it’s like to be me.

iamsaadist (via wnq-writers)

wnq-writers

I had to get personal with my demons before I could kill them.

aaaaleivkai (via wnq-writers)

wavemotions

Animals Tiger Roaring

wavemotions

Untitled

wnq-writers

When she left him, she took the sounds of his world with her. She packed up her soft voice, their records, and all the birds that chirp outside of windows in the morning. Words from the people still in his life bounced off his ears and onto the floor. He couldn’t even hear himself scream. This is the price we pay for not listening when we have the chance.

drunkenliterature (via wnq-writers)