I think to the days where i had it all planned out.
from my experience time is never on your side
When i was young and wanted to be a princess.
I'm stuck in a fairy tale & I'm not sure how to get out.
He was dreamy and he was everything i shouldn't have.
we were happy.
his knife stabbed just as hard as his words and left a gaping hole in me and i haven't felt the same since.
I lost all my friends.
I think at this point you should be angry. so so angry. maybe because you have a heart one size too big.
you are who you love. not who loves you.
I still need to remind myself every morning to smile
and i found myself reminded to keep you away from me.
Nostalgic is my middle name.
emotions are colors and I don't feel colors very often anymore.
My cheeks are still stained with tears but I am stronger now.
the blood pumping from my weak heart is full of love.
I never got the chance to thank you for breaking my heart.
These flowers you picked for me were once the most beautiful. even though they are dead, they remind me of us.
Scars are made to tell a story. A story of life a story of miracles and a story of survival.
I am no longer in love with a boy who kisses like a tsunami. but overtime the thunder comes around I swallow the taste of lightning off my tongue, and try to catch my breath.
I don't know where you are.
I accept you as a dream that haunts me every now and again and, as a wonderful memory and nothing less.
what a marvelous way to die.
Touch.
I remember each finger that fit so perfectly with mine.
The white noise. The dreams, the gentle movements as we slept so peacefully.
I remember sleeping with a body that felt missing.
I remember the void.
I remember chills as skin upon skin, we loved.
The deep color in those eyes.
I remember car doors and yellow lights like the color of the sun when our smile's lit up the room like a white snowy day at the beginning of January.
I remember the alarms that I never woke up to and the smells that made my soul feel so alive.
I remember the flowers. So colorful like love notes from the soul that wilted so deeply throughout time.
It reminded me of the heart.
Each painful beat that seem to never end with every aching second. Every aching head ache, every mention of the relentless 3 worded phrase.
It reminds me of death.
and how I've never wanted to die alone.
& those flowers.
that i've never got myself to throw away.
Sounds of unapologetic screams and painful simultaneous uses of the word "push" make the playlist of a fresh heaven sent soul to enter in this absolutely terrifying world.
A world where we talk about bombs in Syria and Parisians with throats slit on trains. We talk about airfare to Paris these days. half off normal price. but taking the time to hover avoiding disease in public facilities is no way to strengthen any leg.
We talk about love.
We talk about caring eyes and vanilla flavored lips that glide down our bodies so innocently. Cells divide and nature throws its course in a fiery whirlwind so fast the hair we so carefully brushed covered my eyes so thick all i could see were the dark stains your heart made on my shirt. Blood. that the waves cursed with my body and i drowned. time and time again. Echoes of our heartbeats and the smell of freedom dance around in my mind, but we were injured. And all that was left were sounds of an unfinished love song desiccating in the dust.
when he left,
you found yourself mindless.
when he left,
you couldn't sleep in your bed because you were
afraid to feel his warmth.
when he left,
you couldn't bring yourself to turn on the radio
in fear of hearing the song he sang to you at 2am when it was
impossible to sleep.
when he left,
you couldn't eat because you didn't want
to taste anything but him.
when he left,
you couldn't take a shower because the water
dripping down your back felt
like his finger tips.
when he left,
you couldn't breathe because anything else that wasn't
his breath was unacceptable.
when he left,
you couldn't find yourself.
When he left you,
you left too.
When you give a girl a library.. she'll find herself a book.
When she'll read that perfect chapter.. she'll want something warm to match her ignited heartbeat.
So she'll order herself a coffee.. while the windows melt with rain, symphonic with each drop.
As those tears of angels pour.. she'll have the urge to jump.
And with rain on her cheeks.. she'll want to kiss.
So she'll kiss her coffee cup.. she'll spill.
The dark liquid will burn her chest and seep through her brand new white laced dress.. So she'll start to cry.
When tears consume her cheeks.. mascara will run, eyes stung in a never ending misery.
She'll throw the book.. and remember why she never liked to read in the first place.
The pages rip and bend.. so she'll have to find herself another book.
At the library.
