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vainaja

by Mehran Djo

Dominique Elissa

sometimes, someone doesn’t love you the way they did last winter and “I don’t feel okay” goes from coming to your house even though they’re scared of driving on the highway at night to “I’m sorry, feel better” and they don’t take pictures of you anymore or watch you when you aren’t looking and they still kiss you but never your forehead or nose

(via extrasad)

actuates

I need a muse, will you be my muse? Will you be the words I write, hoping one day you’ll read them over my shoulder, tears welling up beneath your eyelids. Saying, “Baby, I never knew you loved me that much.” Will you be my muse? All you have to do is exist. Just make me feel, feel like every bone in my body has softened, like buttery caramel in your warm palm. All you have to do is break my heart, maybe once, twice, ten times. Or you could love me. But nobody seems to enjoy that. Make me feel. Make me feel. Be my muse, please. Give me something to say. I need a muse. Say you’ll be my muse. Tell me you’ll stay.

Muse. |(Morsus Engel)| (via actuates)