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Losing you was never easy. Come to think of it, neither was loving you but we made it work for awhile, didn’t we? We existed, didn’t we? Or is my mind so lost without you that it’s playing tricks on me.

Nicole Torres //excerptExisting Magic ; (via ntorres-writtenemotions)

who-would-have-thought-it

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I so deeply wanted to tell him that this innocent gesture was always the thing I needed to be okay again. That when he wrapped his arms around me to pull me closer and hold me a bit tighter I felt every broken piece inside me hold on just a bit longer until they can feel his arms once again. I wanted to tell him that I loved his hugs because my head rested perfectly on his chest like it was made for me. Like it was the pillow i lay my head on every night. His heartbeat reminded me of my favorite song. I listen to it on repeat never missing a single beat. It reminded me that he’s alive and I’m alive and we are living together. And oh how beautiful it is to just exist at the same time as him. I wanted him to know that I never knew what home was despite the amount of times I’ve moved or all the boys I’ve met until I was with him. They always tell you to find someone who is a home and an adventure at once but they never tell you how beautiful it is to just finally fit in somewhere. They don’t tell you how amazing it is to have a reason to wake up every morning. They don’t tell you how marvelous it is to finally be at home. They never tell you how tragic it is when they get up and leave. And suddenly you’re homeless. You’ll do everything to fill this empty void. Every last drop of liquor will have his name written on it, but he’ll be the only name on your mind when you can’t even remember your own. Every breath stolen by a kiss of another mistake will be shouting his name but the moans drown out the screams. The cries for help. For him. To just hear his heartbeat one last time. What’s the point of my heartbeat if it isn’t beating with his creating the most beautiful song on the planet. Without his chest where do I lay my head at night when every pillow reminds me of him. Every tear, because what we had wasn’t ripped apart, it was cut and he held the scissors. He cut us apart like he was running across the ribbon in a race only crossing that finish line was the only way to get out. To be able to breath again but oh god, I can’t fucking breath. But I’d give you my very last breath if it meant he got to live a second longer.

Briona (via depresion-quotes)

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yeah 😕😏

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