do you ever love someone,
you know they are not meant for you,
nor are you meant for them,
but you wish you were?
you are okay with not being with them,
but yet you wish you were,
there is someone else out there,
waiting for you,
yet you wish it wasn’t so,
oh how you wish,
that you could be with the wrong ones,
that it could work out,
but it won’t ever,
yet you feel sad,
you feel cheated,
why did the universe not chose them for you?
you are so wrong for each other,
but in many ways so right,
it just isn’t fair is it?

"Come over," she says "and we can kiss a lot and play stupid games. You can do that thing where you bite my neck and I’ll grab your crotch and catch your eye and I’ll laugh. Let me run my hands through your hair like it’s the North Atlantic Ocean and we can forget."

"Come over," she says, "we can pretend like it never ended. I’m good at pretending goodbyes never happened."

—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #130 // It’s all so stupid now but I couldn’t care less
Your favourite colour is blue. You like your coffee black with no room for cream, and your soul white as driven snow but filled just the same. Your favourite number is the one you wear proudly on your jersey each year even though the lines have no significance to your birthday, which falls inside of your favourite season when everything starts to grow again. You stopped growing last year but you think you would look better with an extra two inches tucked inside your shins. You wear your hats backwards because you saw a guy do it in your favourite movie and you think it makes you look just as cool. It doesn’t. I don’t tell you, but it messes up your hair. If I try to fix it for you without words, you flinch. You don’t like when people touch your hair because you know they’ll get product on their fingers and you don’t like to talk about that. You don’t like to talk about the girl that broke your heart last year but I know you smile whenever you think about her naked. Her body was better than mine. We don’t talk about that either. You drink a lot of water, even when you’re not thirsty. You think it makes you healthier than other people. You said you were healthy for me and I wonder if you knew that I hated to eat my greens. You like getting drunk with your friends, but your favourite time to drink is when you have a two-second sip whenever your favourite team runs the ball because you’re superstitious. You are so soft on the inside, like the type of candy that melts on your tongue but sticks to your teeth. You’ve always thought you’d be hard to swallow and you rest in my stomach for weeks. You are gum and I am stuck on you, but if I were gum, I’d be on the bottom of your shoe. You want to make your parents proud because you’re the middle child. Your eyes are only green sometimes, and I always make sure I tilt my head to catch it whenever they are. Your smile wraps me up around your teeth but I don’t think you even know my favourite colour.

Your Favourite Colour (k.p.k)

"Tell me," she started, "Don’t you feel better now than you did a month ago?"

"Of course, " I said. "A month ago, I was surrounded by questions I didn’t think I’d ever get the answers to. I was stuck between clouds of ‘what if’s’ and trying to distinguish between reality and lies, and I was settling on excuses. I kept asking myself the same questions; driving myself up against the wall, with nowhere to turn because whichever direction I faced, I was just staring at another brick wall. All the wondering and wishing that eventually led nowhere."

"And do you not ask the same questions now?"

"I do. But the answers aren’t as important to me anymore. You know, a month ago, I was dying for closure. I would have done anything to know. However, now it doesn’t seem as relevant.

Because sometimes, you don’t need answers from someone else. You can settle things by yourself, and that is better than any closure someone can give you.”


Peace of Mind by Ming D. Liu

The way you look gives me butterflies in my stomach. The way you smile makes my heart melt in an instant. The way you laugh brings joy to my bones. The way you kiss makes my whole body shudder. The way you think makes my mind wander. And the way you love makes me wish more than ever that it was me you loved and not another.
—  The Way You Move Me | Nikita Gill

I wanted to be the one you never forgot about. I wrote you letters and I remember the time we wrote our names (on the sidewalk in chalk) beside each other like we wanted the whole world to know we were in love. I was the first one to say it- I told you that I loved you first and when I met your mother for the first time, and she sent you outside to grab her wallet from the car- she told me she liked the way I looked at you and I told her that I loved you and she told me that she knew it. I remember sitting in your mothers car, all three of us talking about the day we’d marry each other.

We never made it and when I see you on the street, you look the other way, cross the street to avoid me. You forgot about the time you spent loving me.

—  While I’m Still Trying // thewordsyouneverunderstood

we met when i was working at a haunted house and i scared him so bad he punched me straight in the jaw. it was he only time he ever raised a hand to me, which is funny because once our home became populated with ghosts, he sure found other ways to hurt me.

She always surprises you this way, by knowing more than you think she does. She seems, at times, to have read your thoughts. She disarms you by saying, essentially, I know what you’re thinking and I agree, I’m ridiculous, I’m far less than I could have been and I’d like it to be otherwise but I can’t seem to help myself. You find that you move, almost against your will, from being irritated with her to consoling her, helping her back into her performance so that she can be comfortable again and you can resume feeling irritated.
—  Michael Cunningham, from The Hours

I have this insatiable longing to be loved and understood. A hankering for validation. What is that? The same reason birds fly in flocks and stock markets bubble? Some residuum of the herd instinct? I guess it doesn’t matter. What matters is that when I’m with you, I feel loved and understood.

I want to know you, study every inch of your mind. But can you ever truly know a person? We exist only in our little skulls, trapped in indecipherability. Perhaps one day we’ll create machines to scan and decode our brains’ electric hums, so we can read each other’s unguarded thoughts, or walk around in one another’s dreams. There will be no separation, no fear. Only communion. I could finally lose myself to you, in an exultant surrender.

What are you? You are tenderness. You are warmth. Some miraculous shard of evanescent moon. You are a page of the most euphonious words any Earthling language could muster, and I am here, bruised and waiting for you in the marginalia.

Ever yours xx
—  Benedict Smith, Letter #3
I’ve been up until 3 AM every day for the past four nights and every night has gotten a little more melancholy because I’m left alone with my thoughts and I drown in my loneliness and I reach for my phone to message you but then I remember that the last time you replied to my messages you told me you didn’t love me anymore and now I need to learn that even though I miss you to the point where my bones hurt and my heart aches and my lungs collapse, I have to accept the time I have alone because one day it will be worth it. Because even though you were my world and I wasn’t even the dirt under your fingernails, I will be the oxygen someone else breathes.
—  I keep writing about you
When we were younger, we were ignorant.
Ignorant when it came to the deeper meaning of things around us, but in an innocent fashion; we simply didn’t understand.
Like a fly outside of a window, trying to get inside a house.
No idea about the true struggles of human life, just knowing that something we wanted was on the other side and wishing we could get it.
At a young age, age itself was that window.
We had no idea about how hard being older would be-
The responsibilities, the heartbreak-
The overwhelming everything that comes with growing up.
But did we care? No.
We just didn’t want to be called little anymore.
We just wanted to have what the older people had.
We just wanted what was on the other side of the window.
And I for one don’t think I would have been so anxious if I knew what being older really meant back then.
—  maxwelldpoetry, “Flies”

I’m not good at taking care of myself
but I’d make you baths filled with flowers
and I know I’d treat you well.

I don’t know how to deal with
my own emotions but I’d hold you crying
in my arms, and I’d laugh with you
till the sun rose.

I’m not good with mess,
and I hate uncertainty, but I’d clean
up your dishes and sweep up
your doubts about everything.

Maybe I’m not the best person —
I’m unsure of myself and I often think
living is so cruel that I’m not
sure if I want to keep doing it.

But if you were to grab my hand,
I wouldn’t let it go.
We could do this together.

—  take my hand // r.e.s