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without you, there's no me.

@ohkaylar

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niftylittlequotes
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niftylittlequotes
Every memory of you, every replay of your lips touching mine or your face buried between my legs is immediately followed by the thought of you doing the same to her. They’re no longer my private fantasies. They’re haunted by the knowledge that she’s the one you couldn’t let go. The one you did those things to first. We did have fun, and I guess we’ll always be special to each other in a sense.. But how do I sleep when I know she gets to feel the same magic touch, the same fiery lips that I crave so much? How do I not hurt at the fact that I will never feel that again? Never look into your eyes or feel your skin against mine, never hold you close when you’re cold. I guess I should be grateful that you’re still there in a way. And who knows? Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe she’s the one who came back and asked for another chance. Maybe she groveled at your feet and begged you to come back. But it doesn’t change the fact that you did. Doesn’t change that the you I want so much, the part that I crave like an addict craves his drug, is gone, is dead to me. And I don’t know what to do. Those memories are ours, but I don’t know how to reclaim them. They’re fresh and oh so vivid.. But then she’s there, taking my place, pushing me out of the frame. So I’m lying in the dark, rain from the thunderstorm is crashing steadily against the window with lightning flashing every five seconds.. And I just wish you were here. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I didn’t feel so fucking jealous. I wish I wasn’t fighting tears and gasping for breath through the sting.. You’re the storm in the dark of my life… You crashed in and shook my foundation and changed everything: the way I thought, the way I felt, the way I lived. You showed me passion and fire.. You evoked the want and desperate need to cleanse my soul. You made me laugh, you made me feel. But you were just passing through. You were passing through… Your force is decreasing.. Your fire is fading. When dawn breaks you’ll be moving on, with gentle raindrops caressing my cheek, stinging my eyes before they blow through to the next life, to her. But I’ll be here, waiting for the next storm; part of me hoping it’ll be you again. Until then, I guess I’ll have to cling to the last few raindrops and hope that they’re enough to get me through the night..

May 11, 2016 (via niftylittlequotes)

morethanmysadness
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40days-and-i-miss-you
1. When I think of summer I remember being fifteen. I remember long black trousers absorbing thick rays of sun, the slightly less painful alternative to showcasing the jagged red worms crawling across my thighs and feeding off my self-hatred. 2. When I think of summer I remember being sixteen and staying at home whilst my friends enjoyed ice cream and swimming and nights at the lake, and they couldn’t understand that I had to earn and beg and plead to be granted liberation from the place that rarely felt like home, because my parents had more paranoia circulating their blood then they will ever admit. 3. When I think of summer I am back in a field of green at seventeen, beer cans and cigarette butts blossoming from the grass where flowers should have, a joint between my forefinger and thumb and my palms crawling with lies rather than fresh made daisy chains. because the boys with the careless minds and reckless lives felt more like home to me than a roof and two parents did. 4. When I think of summer I am still seventeen, watching my whole world shatter, the pieces thrown miles in every direction in a frenzy like a star without hydrogen, my mind crashing to the ground when you said goodbye and I really did think my chest would never stop burning from the touch of your hands and the memory of your smile, stained with yellow nicotine and black coffee. 5. When I think of summer I remember losing all motivation. I remember giving myself physically to anyone who wanted me, as if fucking every boy in sight would somehow lead me back into your arms. 6. When I think of summer my brain is blasted by a sensory hurricane; the smell of grass in the air and the feel of the sun on my back and the swarm of stares focused on my body after my break-up became a sufficient quick-fix super diet. the only taste is remember is cigarettes and rose wine because our lives became purposeless in the summer days. we weren’t individuals and we weren’t grown ups. we were young dumb lost kids drowning our fears in £4.99 alcohol bought from the shop on the corner that turned a blind eye to the underage teenagers and a blind mind to the fact they were consuming copious amounts of toxic substances each day. 7. Fuck you. fuck you fuck you fuck you. fuck you for poisoning the pastel summer skies with flames and scars from my fucking broken heart.

When I think of summer I want to curl up and hide forever until I come out and you are wiped clean from my memory (via 40days-and-i-miss-you)

stargazerinmoksha
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stargazerinmoksha
Why do you think sad people like sunsets very much? I don’t think sad people like sunsets. It’s the torn apart lovers, the ones we let go, the ones that were never meant to be. The shared memories, if you’ve spent weeks with someone you cannot count the times the sun has dipped itself into the sea; you cannot recall the times when the sun wasn’t there to witness your heart being cared for. There’s nostalgia within the glow, the how are you? I missed you, thanks for stopping by. Don’t let this be our last goodbye. How time stiffed your hands and arms, that frozen piece of you holding onto that person. The only memory worth keeping. The only memory some try to let go– I don’t think it’s the sad people, just the series of unfortunate lovers who kissed during the sunset to say their farewells.

To our shared sunsets (via poetryleftbyher)