Under The Sea @partoftheseaa - Tumblr Blog

So I asked him about love and what it meant to him. My mind was split into wanting to listen and fighting to silence the memories that raged in my own head, each one an ear-splitting scream. He said love was about trust, it was about being loyal, but all I could see was your hand in mine and sand between our toes and secret smiles shot that always hit home. He told me he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in love, not truly, not the head over heels kind of way that leaves you struggling for breath and your heart pounding a rhythm you’ve never heard before. I nodded in understanding even though I couldn’t relate, even though I could remember spilling my doubts and my fears like oceans and feeling the soothing sensation of the wind on my wet skin, knowing I was being listened to. Knowing I was home, here, with you, with salt clinging to my lashes. Knowing I could reach out and brush my thumb over the curve of your lips and having you lean into my touch. He said love was something that had to be felt, not seen, and I thought of the way your eyes lit up when I laughed or the quiet way you watched me when you spoke, waiting for my reaction. When he asked me about love, I told him I was sorry. Sorry because the part of me that wanted to finally stop living in the past ached, but the other part that clung to memories like they were its anchor to this world won. It won because when I had asked you about love all these years ago, you’d only stared at me, that weird expression on your face and said, “why waste time explaining when I can show you?”

through the times / n.j. (via ninasdrafts)

theprocast

Shouldn’t it be easier? Is it supposed to be this way? I wake up in the morning and my thoughts spiral out of control, circling around an image of you until I can no longer avoid diving right into it, wondering if we‘re still the same. If we left off on a good note. If I said the right words. And I‘m not sure if this is how it is supposed to work: me going to bed thinking I wasn’t enough and me waking up alone in the morning, knowing I‘m too much. Shouldn’t it be light? Shouldn’t it feel like a weight lifting off your chest? Because I feel heavier somehow, as though an invisible force pressed my body into the ground and I can sense the ceiling closing over my head, falling down, down, down. When all I want to do is watch you go and know with all my heart that you‘ll return. But I don’t. And I wish I was still at a point when I thought it would be easy once I‘d taken the fall. When I still thought I’d fly, not crash to the ground. And I wish you‘d reassure me just once. I wish you told me you felt the same way because I‘m scared this feeling of not knowing, of never being sure, will never go away.

vertigo / n.j. (via theprocast)