hurricanes and drizzles

I am the girl after your greatest heartbreak, your great love. I am the girl you try to pretend to be good enough; the girl that will never really be enough. I am the girl who picks up the pieces I have no power to break. I am the girl that pretends to be naïve. I am the placeholder, the clean-up crew, the girl after the storm. I know I’m the one after the catastrophe, because I am not capable of being a beautiful disaster. I know my place in your life, you don’t have to deny it just because you don’t want to hurt me, it’s a little too late for that.
I am not her. I don’t want to be the one waiting for the storm to end. I don’t want to be the placeholder anymore, I want to be the one. I’m tired of being a hand to hold when yours searches for hers. I am done being someone to fill the void she left every time you miss her, especially when it happens constantly. I deserve more than this. I deserve to be loved the way you love her. So this is my goodbye. And even though it’s a letter addressed to you, it’s also a letter for me, because even though I’m the one leaving, I know I’ll be the one hurting. So when you read this letter, if you ever do, I hope you feel a little heartbreak. I hope you’d give me some sign that at least I still meant something to you, even if it isn’t much. I know I’m not the perfect storm, but I’m just hoping that somehow, I was still a calm drizzle.
—  a. gale, An unsent letter from the girl after the storm to her hurricane
I was gawky and she was
gorgeous and I was hopelessly
boring and she was endlessly
fascinating. So I walked back
to my room and collapsed on
the bottom bunk, thinking that
if people were rain, I was
drizzle and she was hurricane.
—  John Green /// Looking For Alaska
I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep.
Not fuck, like in those movies.
Not even have sex.
Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase.
But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating.
So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
—  John Green, Looking for Alaska