Staring at your ceiling,
laying on your bed,
we used to talk
about our greatest fears together
so they seemed less scary
when we said them out loud.
I remember.
One day, I’m going to marry someone
who isn’t you.
One day, I’ll be helping my babies
with bright eyes and their father’s laugh
into the car
and our eyes will meet across the street.
One day, you’ll be walking your wife
to the store, picking fresh apples
for a pie tonight.
One day, everything we had
will flash before our eyes
and we will be able to do nothing
but smile,
nod at our new lives,
and wish each other well.
—  Schuyler Peck, We’ve Talked About This
She spoke
Of forever
While counting
The ticks
And tocks
Of a
Silent clock
But now
The alarm
Is starting
To ring
And I
Am finally
Understanding just
How time
Can be
Experienced at
Different speeds.
—  Relativity
One morning you wake up, and you feel different. No more longing. No more sadness. Acceptance. You accept. No more hoping theyre coming back. No more crying. No more heart ache. You dont go through old pictures and laugh at memories, wondering when the stranger in them is coming back. You dont constantly daydream about them. You dont drunkenly stare at their contact in your phone with your thumb right over the call button. You just feel empty. Lonely. Heavy. You accept that they will not be in your life again. That they will find someone that they can actually spend the rest of their lives with. And whether theyre happy or not doesnt even matter, because your lives will not intersect again. You are finally free from the sadness. You are finally liberated from the heart break. But happiness is not a part of your new freedom. And thats what kills.
Part of the problem is how much of him is a part of me now. It’s not just that so many things remind me of him and conversations we’ve had, it’s that I’ve picked up some of his habits. I’ll say something, or move my hands in a certain way, or whatever it is and suddenly there he is. I can’t escape him because he’s in my head and can’t get him out, no matter how hard I try.

She doesn't want to talk to you,
that girl with the big heart 
who would have answered your messages,
who would never
have let your calls go to voicemail,
who would have done anything 
to talk to you, 
to explain that there had to be 
something to be done to fix what was,
she doesn’t want to talk to you.

She cried behind closed bathroom doors
and tore out her own heart
trying to figure out what she had done
to cause you to leave,
and then she learned,
that you were always manipulating,
that every time you called her little
it was because that was how much
you thought of her,
that every time you said “Oh, sweetie”
in that tone - don’t ask,
you know what tone I mean -
was just to make yourself feel superior  

That sweet girl, who loved you 
with all the scraps she had,
she doesn’t want to talk to you,
because sugar coated girls 
with hearts bigger than their chest 
can’t survive relationships
with flies like you,
flies who are craving something sweet 
to fly around and eat 
when really you should be hovering 
over the big shit you took on that girl

She doesn’t want to talk to you
because she is gone,
devoured and spit back out by you
and now here I am,
cold and calloused,
being told by family that I am too bitter
to make anyone ever fall in love with me,
but my experience with love
is not worth recasting and reenacting
because the last lead was too good,
he was too convincing that he loved 
so that no one could tell he was acting,
and you know what? 
I don’t want to talk to you either.

—  I’ll just flip you off next time I see you || O.L.

anonymous asked:

how about a break up? up to you if they reconcile or not.

Spoiler: they do, because I can’t handle it otherwise. This is still deliciously painful though. *w*

It’s been two months since Derek last spoke to Stiles, almost three since he last saw him. He has no particular desire to ever see him again, but Derek still lives in Beacon Hills, and so does Stiles when he’s not at school, so he knows it’s only inevitable that they see each other around town. It doesn’t mean he has to like it, and he’s definitely not looking forward to it.

It just…hurts. He’d thought - and now he will never admit this to anyone, ever - Stiles was the one. And worse, he’d thought that Stiles thought that too, to the point where Derek had begun thinking about bringing up marriage. They’d said I love you to each other a thousand times; why would Stiles say that if he didn’t mean it? And why had Derek been stupid enough to believe him? Of all of his spectacularly failed romantic relationships, this one hurts the most because Stiles isn’t evil, he’s not a murderer, he knows right from wrong. He’s just an asshole, and Derek loved him with his entire being. What does that make him?

After Derek heard the voicemail, he reacted how he always did in times of great emotional stress; he completely shut down. He didn’t focus on the great, vast pit of misery in his chest - he just blocked it out completely. He didn’t answer any of Stiles’ texts and then, later, any of his calls, until they became so frequent that Derek blocked his number and then, for good measure, blocked him on the few social media accounts Stiles had goaded him into setting up. He half expected Stiles to show up at his door, but it’d been the middle of midterms and he knew that Stiles wouldn’t abandon his classes, even for him. Especially not for him.

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