He asks me why.
“Why would you let your lips wander
like sky lanterns and vagabonds?”
Why. As if there was an answer.
Why? Because I was hungry.
Because I was bored.
Because I’m a slut or whatever.
Because I was missing you
and you are always two thousand miles
up the nearest mountain.
Because his eyes were like tidal pools
and my hands were burning in the sunlight
and I didn’t know what else to do.
Because he said I was beautiful
and the levees in my judgment broke
and I flooded his mouth with hidden desire.
Because I am eighteen years old
and it was a Tuesday in June
and there are love-making forces
outside of a poor eighteen-year-old’s control
when it is a Tuesday in June
and the wasps are buzzing against the honeybees.
Because love is like a river
and it never flows directly north or south.
Because love, like all things,
is both real and not real, sane and insane.
Because love turns decent people
into mindless witch creatures and selfish ghosts.
I don’t know.
I don’t know where to put my hands
and I don’t know what to do
with my wretched, wanting heart
and I don’t know how to tell you that—
god damn it all—
I still love you to pieces anyway.
—  why? // keely shinners

don’t base your self worth on a cheaters actions. don’t feel you aren’t good enough for someone if they cheat. you don’t need to be good enough for anyone, be as good for you as you can be and if thats not enough for someone then fuck them. remove them from your life cause if they make you feel like you aren’t worth it then clearly they aren’t worth your time either.

Lately I have seen how relationships can end in a sudden moment. One person cheats, or just leaves when they fall out of love, whilst the other remains heartbroken. I have realised that wanting love is wanting pain, but the desire of being in someone’s arms is still there and I don’t know how to stop it.
—  D.P.
Fuck You for cheating on me. Fuck you for reducing it to the word cheating. As if this were a card game, and you sneaked a look at my hand. Who came up with the term cheating, anyway? A cheater, I imagine. Someone who thought liar was too harsh. Someone who thought devastator was too emotional. The same person who thought, oops, he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Fuck you. This isn’t about slipping yourself an extra twenty dollars of Monopoly money. These are our lives. You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.
—  David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary