Truth Be Told
How can I not be upset with you, when I know that you do not trust me, like I trust you?
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@lil-milktea
Truth Be Told
How can I not be upset with you, when I know that you do not trust me, like I trust you?
Perfect
Donāt call herĀ āperfect.āĀ
āPerfectā is not a compliment. It is an unattainable ideal. Itās alienating. Itās cold.Ā
āPerfectā is a two dimensional image you perceive that denies her the personhood and equality she works every day to achieve.Ā āPerfectā is a lie.
She is notĀ āperfect.ā She is flawed. She makes mistakes. She usually tries, but she fails more often than she would care to admit.
Please donāt call herĀ āperfect,ā because āperfectā means you donāt understand her at all. It puts her on a pedestal, on which she has no hope to keep her footing. It dooms her to fall.Ā
Instead tell her,Ā āI see your soft places and your stretch marks. I feel your sharp edges and rough patches. I have witnessed your failures and your weaknesses, and I know that they are what makes you human.ā Tell her,Ā āI thought you were perfect, once, but now I know that you are not. Now I know that you are real.āĀ
Tell her,Ā āI have witnessed who you are. I have seen you, and I have seen inside you. And you are not perfect. And you are so, so beautiful. Because you are you.ā
Space
Nothing else matters when I am in a room,Ā
with you
and my eyes lingered in the immediate space around you far too longer than I intended to and there is nothing else that matters except you when I, too, wished that you kept some of your gaze for me that there is a possibilityĀ that you couldnāt focus in a room with me because nothing else matters, too.
There could be a small tiny flame burning for you and now I don't know what to do.
3:16 AM by Ming D. Liu
If I could turn back time
I will take back the promise that I will still be your friend. Because it is hard not to take your niceness as remnants of love for me And as I lull myself into that belief I find it harder to take the truth.
Have you ever crave someone?Ā
You crave their touch, the way they caress your face, hold your hands, kiss you slowly in passionate way, the way they make you feel warm and comfortable, their scent, you want to sleep with them and feel you feel safe when they wrapped their hand on you, that tight hug like they donāt want to let you go. You crave that partner because you miss them so much, you miss everything that the both of you do when you are together. You crave their presence so much, but you canāt do anything about it because you are so far with each other and youāll just wait for the day that the both of you will see each other again.
All the times I waited for you, sitting on a bench in a park, looking at the pigeons or sitting alone in a café, looking outside the window, watching the passersby laughing or frowning as if looking at the flow of a river. All the times I waited for a smile, a sign to break ⦠Read more
Waiting for you is like waiting for godot
I donāt care, I love you anyhow. It is too late to turn you out of my heart. Part of you lives here.
Anne Sexton, from āa letter to W. D. Snodgrass,ā A Self-Portrait in Letters (Mariner Books, 2004)
Rhetorical Question
Sometimes in the middle of the night I'd still wake up and wonder if you still love me. I learnt in class that love is impossible to measure, impossible to prove. I knew that, sadly, I will never get an answer. My only console was that perhaps, I would be happier if I didn't know the answer.
Once Upon A Time
I was a story that he couldn't tell to the world And now you are a story that I don't know how to continue.
I think what tore us apart were our similarities,ā she says. āWe were both strong-willed and stubborn as hell. Our heads and hearts were full of fire, and we began to burn each other up.ā āDonāt get me wrong, most of it was beautiful. I loved him, I really did. And he loved me back. But sometimes loving someone just isnāt enough.ā āYou have to be able to make it work. And when someoneās making your heart curl up and turn to ashes, you gotta be able to let go.
letting go (via storyiwillneverwrite)
My Favourite Alcohol
It tastes like love. The first sip is always refreshing; it's like you are intrigued by this wondrous new feeling that you have never experienced before. The taste of honey lingers on your palate and you just wanna melt in the sweetness of it. A few more sips and you are intoxicated; it leaves you wanting more and more. When you finally get used to the sweetness, the initial thrill fades into mellowness. The initial sweetness becomes numbness on your tongue. You try to recall the taste of sweetness but all you can taste is the staleness of it all. And that's when the aftertaste of bitterness materializes. You are sober enough to realize that you should stop drinking but you are too drunk with the idea of love to let go of it. Then in a rush of obsession you drain the entire bottle to salvage any remnants of sweetness you can find. But when you are awake from it all, you realize that all that remains in the bottle is the perpetual taste of emptiness and you only wish that you didnt have to wake up from your inebriety at all.
I miss you before 2 AM. I miss you before the alcohol passes my lips. I miss you before Iām in my bed with nothing but cold, empty space to roll over to. I miss you whether I pour cereal for breakfast or grab a yogurt on the way out. I miss you when Iām out for lunch with my friends. When Iām looking over notes for that big exam. I miss you when Iām happy. When my day is going great, the sun is shining and my favorite song is blasting from my car radio. I miss you when Iām hours from my deadline. I miss you when Iām doing nothing at all. I just miss you.
Thatās how I know-RLM (via inksplatteredpalms)
Please donāt make me promises, okay? Because even if you have the greatest of intentions, life has a funny way of ruining the things it doesnāt see fit. And itāll hurt a lot more when you walk away if I know you didnāt want to.
āso just love me while you can, donāt use that big F wordā October 22, 2015. http://bee-the-poet.tumblr.com (via bee-the-poet)
Forgotten Letter #632Ā by James Andrew Crosby
Looking back, it needed to happen,ā she says. āIt hurt for a while, but we were never going to stay together. We were bound to fall apart at some point.ā āI miss him a little sometimes. It was so good while it lasted.ā āBut all good things must come to an end, right?ā she asks with a strained smile.
all good things must come to an end, right? (via storyiwillneverwrite)