from the books

And please understand
that I will never
get tired of listening
to the songs
of your lonely heart—
even if I failed
to understand it
—  ma.c.a // I’m sorry if my silence hurts you so bad
I miss the old sadness. I miss the cries of breaking a leg. I miss the feeling of not getting what you want, the feeling of fighting with a friend, with a sibling. I miss that sadness because this sadness, this grief, makes everything else feel small. I don’t know those feelings anymore because the feeling of the loss of someone you love…it’s unlike any sadness I’ve felt before. I don’t want this sadness, this sorrow. I miss the old sadness.
—  E.M.
And so I finally found the courage to tell him. ‘I am sick,’ I said, 'and I am never going to get better.’ He listened to me as I explained the situation. And when I finished he said, 'You are beautiful. It doesn’t matter to me because you are perfectly imperfect.’ And in that moment I knew, he was everything I needed and more.
—  Excerpts of stories I’ll never finish// #213

So we’re driving way faster than we should be through country roads that are nowhere near where we should be going and everything is good. I tell you how the only time I’m not at rock bottom is when we’re screaming that song about volcanoes at the top of our lungs and you tell me that when you hit rock bottom you just keep digging.

So we’re in the middle of a jewellery shop in my favourite city on earth and you put a necklace with a triangle around my neck and say “here, it’s to represent that volcano from that song that makes you happy” and I cry in the middle of the shop because I love you so fucking much.

And when we get home you tell me that the only reason you ever put the shovel down to stop digging was me and it’s then that I realise I was wrong when I tell everyone that my favourite place is your house. My favourite place is you.

You did not love me.
You loved the attention I gave you.
You loved that I would do anything for you,
that I would drop everything in order to pick you back up.
You loved to manipulate me,
addicted to tearing me down when I was building you up.
You did not love me.
But god,
I loved you.
—  I Loved You So Much…

It swells in my chest,
this warmth, this calm.

It washes over me like
tides kissing shorelines.
Like sunlight after rain.
It covers me, completes me.

It fills that emptiness that had
found its way through my system,
and rooted itself in the cracks and
crevices I could no longer secure.

It reminds me I am still here.
Still breathing, still being.
I’m still feeling, still able to feel.
And it’s okay to feel, safe.

—  “You are loved” remnant-thoughts
I think when you miss someone, it never really goes away. You still wake up some mornings, a year after, ten years after, and feel like your chest is caving in on itself. You still look to the side and expect someone to be there. But there’s no one. I don’t think it stops hurting. I think I’ve just learned to live with the tunnel through my chest.
—  from an unfinished story #819
And maybe one day he’ll be all the things you need him to be. He’ll be kind and caring and considerate. He’ll open your car door for you and carry your books to class. He’ll give you roses for no reason and take you out for last minute dates. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and kiss you in the rain. He’ll dance with you in the shower and get drunk with you under the stars. Maybe one day he’ll be all the things you need him to be. But not today. Today he is young and foolish and reckless. Today he is selfish and not ready for love. Today he wants to drink and dance and live like he’s immortal. Today he can’t be all the things you need him to be, all the things you hoped he would be.
—  f.a.w

I believed in you the way you said we could.

Out of sight and out of mind, wouldn’t apply to us, you said.

You relied upon me when you needed my words, my silences and my arms around you, even when your tears had dried up.

Today, after all these months, my tears have also dried up. I never had the sleeve of your shirt to stain, but had to use my own. I wiped them into my own fingertips and wished these hands were yours.

I want to believe. I don’t want to give up.

Call it foolishness, but I don’t want to give up on those gentle souls who still believe in love and crave for it, like I still do. I don’t want to let someone else down.

I believed in you the way you said we could.

I won’t let you shape my future, but I want to know why!

Why was I so easy to let go?

—  Navin E. (sometimes you still need answers)
i never knew how much to give and how much to take.
i always ended up giving too much and taking too little.
i always ended up with less and thought that that’s how it’s supposed to be.
i thought that when i love someone, i have to give constantly without ever getting anything back.
but that’s not true.
that’s not how it’s supposed to be.
i deserve just as much as i’m giving to someone else.
and maybe instead of giving it to the wrong people, i should start giving it to myself.
—  e.s. // giving & taking.

yeah, you still kiss me sometimes, but its just on the cheek,
yeah, i still call you sometimes, but i get the machine,
yeah, we still go to dinner sometimes, but we dont play with our feet,
yeah, we still watch movies sometimes, but we dont share the couch,
yeah, you even sleep over sometimes, but we stay in our clothes

yeah, you even say you love me sometimes, but i know its not true.

i would’ve given everything just to hear you speak: your practiced ice, your silent love like the calm before the storm. i’ve been listening for years for the sound of your laugh, for the comfort i used to find there. i am empty now – it has been so long.
—  when your words meant all but they never came // abby, day 307 // prompt for @shaktiki
Below the last layer of consciousness

There is a part of you that’s hurting too,
More often hushed, a lingering presence;
A throe right before each day starts anew.

When the oneiric realm fades from view,
Yet before your mind starts its resistance
There is a part of you that’s hurting too.

The aftermath of our souls’ rendezvous
Aches in the harsh truth of our distance;
A throe right before each day starts anew.

I, the fool, let this pang paint my walls blue,
And though you don’t wallow in penitence
There is a part of you that’s hurting too.

This is not something I could get used to;
Sheer agony defined by persistence;
A throe right before each day starts anew

So curse your mind! – and its hullabaloo
Hushing your soul’s craving deliverance.
There is a part of you that’s hurting too;
A throe right before each day starts anew.

- M.A. Tempels © 2017

You see, at first, I did regret you. I regretted ever giving you that satisfaction of having me so easily. I used to regret ever being so vulnerable for you. I would regret the memories we had created at 2PM as well as the ones at 4AM. Now, I’m just so thankful for you. You taught me that there is nothing wrong with showing a man just how crazy you are for him, it is not my fault you were incapable of loving me back. You taught me my worth. That I should not lose an ounce of sleep, crying over something that is completely out of my hands. You taught me how to love myself enough to let you go. Because of you, I know what I deserve now and I will never settle. You did that. I am forever grateful for you.
—  You were a life lesson. Thank you R.