inked story

Have you ever met someone who you can’t get tired of seeing everyday?” she asked. “Someone who makes your heart smile and puts a sweet shiver to your spine. Someone who can sit with you all day even if you talk about nonsense things. Have you ever known someone who never asked for you to change yourself? Someone who accepts you just the way you are. Someone who never wants you to lose yourself just by loving them. Someone who treats you in the best possible way without expecting too much from you.” she paused and thought of that someone she’s been talking about. It all comes to her mind. The way he genuinely smiles as if there are millions of fireflies that suddenly showed up at the night sky. The way he looks at her as if she is the most stunning person in the universe. Her heart seems to love everything she feels. And for that, she is grateful to know a person like him. She smiled and continued, “Haven’t you met someone you thought—will never exists in this world? Someone you thought you will never meet. Because I have met someone who I thought will only appear in my dreams.
—  ma.c.a // I want to describe you longer than this

I believe there are different kinds of heartbreak.
There’s the ones where your mind feels more like a blank canvas,
your insides feel heavy and all you want to do is to lay your head face down on the table and not think at all.
They say this pain should make for great poetry but you struggle to string together a coherent sentence.
It’s the kind where every sad and slow song resonates deep within your being, filling the air with words you can’t get out.
On the surface, it’s like you’re numb and emotionless but inside, there’s a silent lump in your throat and a sad feeling wallowing in your stomach.

Then there’s the kind that leaves you screaming inside and every inch of your body aches 
You can feel your lungs give out when you’re staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night,
As your body starts to convulse with broken sobs,
And the hot tears cascading down your skin are comforting, as though they are the only source of warmth reminding you you’re alive.
This kind of heartbreak, it’s not just sadness, it’s a mix of frustration and hopelessness and anger.
It’s like a boat stranded on a stormy sea, turbulent waves heartless and relentless, the wind tearing through.
I can’t tell which is worse. But I know for sure, both awaken the worst kind of loneliness.

—  reminsces

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
And it’s just one of those days, when all you look forward to is sleeping. And suddenly, you hear this one song which strikes a chord with you and it takes you to distant places and long-forgotten memories. You suddenly enter a world of your own, your body moving with every beat, your heart syncing with every note. You go on like that, and suddenly the song comes to an end. You go back to your normal monotonous life, much happier and joyous just because of that one song. Music makes a difference. It always had and always will.

midnight, the stars and his smile. nothing new, nothing to alarm me – his teeth in my throat is familiar. comforting, even.

the moonlight shines on his shoulders like a spotlight – he was meant for this, murder in the dead of night when only the trees can hear me howling. he is a cold-blooded, well-oiled machine: silent about the way he really works, deep down where even the wolves don’t go. he lets me hear what i want to hear: the soft edges, the crickets in the tall grass, and not the snakes that hide there. i have been bitten time and time again and still i choose to believe only in the calm, not in the storm.

the blood flows thick and heavy and sweet as honey, as peaches, as his sweat on my skin; he cannot get enough and there is even me, screaming for more carnage, more destruction, more pain making my nerve endings sing like a choir. the heat is too much to stand, he is too much to stand-

i take his face in my hands and turn it to me, so i can see the boy behind the gore. his eyes meet mine, wide and afraid, and i realize i am not the same anymore.

- 10:13 homicide // abby, day 306 // prompt for @shaktiki

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.
Every once in a while
I sit down and gaze,
Not into the sky or into dreamy eyes,
But into my own body.
Given the limited years of my existence,
People would say there’s not much experience.
Little do they know,
Crying starts right from the time of birth.
Initially it’s a sign of being alive,
Slowly it turns to the want to get away.
Scars scatter themselves all through my body.
The ones on my body are fading and will continue to.
It’s a mixed feeling cause
I want to get rid of those nightmares yet I want to remember my bravery
As for the scars within, they dont fade.
They stay in my heart forever.
They cause cracks which can never be filled completely.
But with every crack, crevice and scar,
I’ve becoming stronger.
Stronger to take on the world,
Stronger to fight against injustice.
Those cracks get filled with experience.
Because I know I will always rise up
And breathe again. _
—  Via @mymellowcupcakestudent
And now there’s desperation when there should be inspiration. I’ve lost all my relations and I’m constantly stuck in the same situations. I try to use my imagination to fuel my aberrations yet I’m still stuck in this same old town. I can feel this abomination of everyone and anyone, especially me. All I need is validation, an accreditation, a confirmation of my existence to know that I matter but all I’m getting is castigation. Please… don’t give me your commiseration as it only piles on more complications and that is the last thing I need. There’s a deprivation of love and an underestimation of the insane amount of desolation. A desperation to fulfill our necessitation of things that can never be ours constantly leaves us in anticipation. Too much hesitation to stand out in this civilization. And still… I don’t know where I stand in this cruel nation. All these misconceptions and lies are eating me alive. There’s this abnegation of hope entering my life and at this point I’m not sure what to do. Maybe my dreams were set too high, maybe they were fated for eradication but either way, my aspirations were never meant to be fulfilled.
—  Where did I go wrong? // S.T.

their story ended years ago
with a period
but it seems that
she hasn’t moved on yet

she still loves him so bad
after years of splitting up
so she sacrificed her own good
to substantiate her feelings

she cut herself and bled
because she believed
that their story will continue
and will have a happy every after

she used the blood
that came out from her skin
to add a comma under that period
which resulted to a semicolon mark—
which means that it doesn’t stop there,
because another idea will keep up
and that idea is them getting back together.

—  it isn’t over yet // r.b
She’s irresistible, exotic and enticing wearing a glorious black fabric edging her sharp curves while her hair falls on her back like a waterfall of flames, blazing red
The girl who suffered from heart break
she changed
she now attracts
she now glistens
she’s now strong and empowered
—  Viola CN ‘’Changed’’
Famous Last Words

Moments are only beautiful when felt, when the irrate jolt of electricity touches both our fingertips and we both shiver. And we both get lost into a world we cultivated. Where the rules of reality are null and silly. Where we become each other’s dreams.

But what’s terribly bad in moments is that theyre sad when reminisced; theyre a reminder of a sweet ache. that now, tasted stale in our mouths.

And did you know?

That moments are the most painful when you are in them? ; when I try to close my eyes in the darkness of my room, when I stare at the ceiling? When I blink, Thinking. And remembering.

It’s always so hard, letting go; the moments, which were once so explosive with joy, are now those pulsating ache in my chest whenever I try to sleep.

“It’s not you,” words that you uttered; an attempt to simplify the love that was lost and the love that could not find its way to you. The famous last words that ilicit a kind of ache persistent only in lost moments. In forgone chances. And in promises of what could have beens.