We looked at each other a little too long and a little too deeply to be ‘just friends.’
—  I’m too in love with you to be just friends

“I think this is where you have to choose.”

“You have to decide whether I’m worth your time, your effort, your Sunday afternoons and your Monday mornings. You have to decide if you want me.”

Her voices drops to a whisper.

“You have to decide if you want all of me. The moments when I’m all over you and trace kisses across your jawline and the moments when I refuse to lift my head off the pillow or take off my headphones.”

“Because I’m done with answering the door only to have you slam it back in my face. I’m done with picking up the phone and listening to you fumble your way through half-hearted apologies and promises that you’ll break as soon as I put the phone down and I’m done with trying to remember what your voice sounded like when lies didn’t lace your every second word.”

“Don’t say that if I loved you I wouldn’t make you choose,” she cries when he opens his mouth to argue. “Don’t you ever dare tell me that I don’t love you.”

“Because the love I’m offering is the most complete thing left in my body. But I refuse to let you take it from me and break it without a second thought or glance in my direction.”

“So you have to choose, you have to decide, if this love is worth it.”

—  This is something called self-preservation, 03/06/2015
But you’re 20 now, and all the girls you knew in school are women. Most of them will soon have life breeding in their bellies and skin that looks like sunshine and they’ll have lovers who kiss them goodnight. And you tell yourself, “No. That isn’t what I want. I have a world to stake my claim on.” And it isn’t a lie. You want to make music and see the world and drive through new cities at night; just you and your solace. You want to cook yourself dinner in your flat and feel content with your own company. But every now and then, if you allow the waning to touch your chest, you’ll flinch and you’ll ache and the need is so terribly there that you have to force it back into the silence before your eyes well up with tears. You want love, don’t you? It’s terrifying how much you want it. And you’re frightened sometimes; and you’re sad. Because no one has offered you love, but you.
—  Love will build its home around you, brick by brick. Give it time.
I miss you, but I can’t be in love with you. And missing something I can’t love sets fire to my heart in a way words would fail to explain.
—  (c.m.) // loving someone who doesn’t love me back never fails to make me feel inadequate.

you never asked me what my birthday was. it passed by without so much as a call and that should’ve been the first sign we had known each for a year and I know your birthday, november 3rd. but you never asked and you never called and I could feel cracks begin to trace through my skin. be careful I am fragile.

when I told you my grandmother died you began telling me about the day you lost your grandpa and my heart was still ripped open and missing her and you filled my wound with salt as you told me that a car accident is much worse than the way my grandma passed. you told me I should be glad it was peaceful, I should be glad her life didn’t end in flames. but all I could think was “we used to buy roses every Sunday and now flowers don’t grow in my heart anymore, where will I find them?” my sadness was not a competition you shouldn’t have made it one.

you kissed the girl from the bar and I knew, I knew that I should’ve run from you so fast that the soles of my feet melted, but I didn’t. i stayed and listened to your groveling apology and desperate excuses and I actually believed you were sorry. but my skin was cracked and this was just tapping on the glass and slowly I began to shatter. slowly like a heart breaking.

you were the one that left me and maybe it’s because my heart was a bomb, my heart was a gun but you pulled the trigger. i am still picking shrapnel out of my lungs. there are still missing bodies.

do not call me up at three a.m. because you are feeling regret covering your skin and slipping into your mouth. do not call me because I am trying to clean up the mess you made of me. i am still trying to be whole in your absence.

—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #5
and the hardest thing to do is convince yourself that he deserves to be happy after ripping your heart out and stomping on all of the pieces. you’ve given him everything and he’s taken your breath away and whispered pretty words, only to realize that he was only kidding himself. you’ve loved him for so long and you can’t feel a thing and you haven’t stopped crying since you left his car, and you want to set your lungs on fire with smoke because yet again, you’re the second choice.
—  6.2.15
but all of that doesn’t matter, as long as he’s happy.
Family isn’t always the people who raised you it’s the people who you can go to whenever possible the people who respect you