no wonder she left you

Your words dig into me like a nail in a wall and your smell seeps into every crevice of my body keeping me paralyzed on the floor left with nothing but the lies you spit out. Every part of me weeps to have your fingers intertwined in mine again and every bone aches with the memory of you hidden in every crack in the pavement and every vacant space. The girl you once showered with kisses and kind words now lays on the ground wondering where she went wrong and why you left.
—  Excerpt from a book I will never write #1154 // i just wanted to be loved by you 

Inktober #16 - tenor sax

When you were told a transfer student was going to join the band, you didn’t realize just how far she had transferred from. You asked her once if having to march with the fish tank made it harder for her to adjust, but she just joked that at least her reeds never dried out. You laughed, but when she left your office, you silently wondered how she manages to play her instrument at all. Logistically, the tank, the water, the tenor sax…it shouldn’t make any sense, but you definitely know you’ve heard her play before; she’s one of the best soloists in the band. You try not to think about it too hard…you’re a band director, not a scientist!

She’s the kind of girl that can make you forget what you were saying just by looking at you. She got me higher than any drug ever could, and God, was I addicted. She has a voice that could calm a raging bull, and a smile that could make even the coldest person light up. She’s the one that will have you sorry you ever thought you could be with anyone else. Every time I had the privilege of touching my lips to her, my lungs forgot how to bring in oxygen. She’s the type of girl that only comes around once in a lifetime, and she’ll have you wondering what you did to deserve her. 
But no high can last forever, and when she leaves, you’ll be left in the wreckage, wondering how you’re supposed to live without her.
—  She’s the one
you left me.
i’m sitting on my bed and my tears are falling on the keys as i type this.
you left me.
i’m wondering what she has that i don’t.
you left me.
i go to my friends houses but all i wanna do is drink.
you left me.
the blood pounding in my head echoes your name.
you left me.
i cant fucking breathe.
you left me.
i think i’m losing it.
you left me.
i’m not okay.
you left me.
you left me.
—  You left me.


There was a girl.

She would always come around the shop at the same time. You vaguely remember her face from middle school, but you can’t pin it to any of your friends’ faces. You search through your class pictures until you find the right one. She was always at the front of the pictures because of her height, wild blonde mane all over the place and mismatched clothes. To be completely fair, every single kid in her class had something random about them – a misplaced lock of hair, an untucked shirt, anything that could make them stand out. But there had been something different about the little blonde. The bright blue paint streak on her cheek stood out in your eyes and left you wondering about her.


One morning, she comes in soaked from the rain. The poor girl is completely drenched. You’re hoping that the fact that her coffee was already ready to go would make her notice you, finally. The blonde miserably sits at one of the tables, pulling out her sketchpad from under her leather jacket.

You bring her a cup of hot coffee, claiming it was ‘on the house’. Little does she know that you pay for it yourself, even if every penny you get counts.

You watch her as she draws for the next couple of hours, drinking cup after cup after cup of black coffee, and you wonder if anyone has ever looked as beautiful as she did while she was drawing.


The first night she comes in was Valentine’s Day. You can tell she’s been out on a date, and by the look on her face, you can tell it went terribly wrong. Her striking blue eyes meet yours and you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks. The blonde gives you a small smile but acts as though she doesn’t notice it (even if she clearly does, you tell yourself).

You prepare her usual coffee, but this once, she asks for something to eat with it, too. You give her the last blueberry muffin, even if you were keeping it for yourself.

She leaves when you close up shop, leaving half of the blueberry muffin on a napkin in the middle of the table. You wonder if she left it out for you to throw away, but the blonde always made sure to clean up her table before she left.

(You also clearly remember seeing her cut the muffin in half with a knife, being careful not to touch the half meant for you. You decide to eat your half anyways.)


She sometimes brings friends with her, but it’s always the same two people; a boy and a girl. The boy is one of the most confident and funniest men you have ever encountered. He leaves you a nice tip every time and never fails to make you sweat with his crazy coffee orders. The girl, a beautiful brunette with legs for days, always talks with the blonde. She rarely places a word in the conversation, obviously preferring to let the brunette exhaust herself as she speaks of her past conquests, random boys she probably won’t recall ever meeting by the next day.


The blonde finally reveals her name when your friend takes her order as you get off of your break and come back to the front. He writes her name on a to-go cup, handing her the cup of piping hot coffee with her name awkwardly scribbled on the side. She leaves the shop in a hurry, but not before your eyes catch her name on the side of the cup. You ask your friend about her and he gives you a knowing smile before confirming her name.


(You then spend the next few hours sneaking into the back and searching through Facebook for her, but there are so many Maya’s in New York that you eventually give up.)


Maya brings many dates to the shop with her. Sometimes, it’s boyish-looking men, other times beautiful, tall girls with dangerously long legs. The blonde never leaves with them, spending the rest of the day at her table, drawing onto the sketchbook she keeps in her bag at all times.

You can’t help but feel jealous every time she walks in with someone who isn’t one of her two friends, but you also can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you watch her dates leave alone.


The time she comes in wearing a white, paint-stained tank top is the day you tell yourself you’re probably in love with her. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days and you decide to give her a larger cup of coffee than usual, again, claiming it was ‘on the house’. She thanks you and gives you a genuine smile that could have made you melt right on the spot.

The blonde drinks her coffee and throws away her empty cup in the trash. Before she leaves, you call out to her, a little louder than you would have wanted to. She turns around, looking at you expectantly with her blue eyes and you hand her a large to-go cup of black coffee, wishing her good luck with whatever painting she was working on.

Maya takes the cup, trying to fight her smile. She thanks you once more and leaves, a beautiful smile drawn on her lips.

(She’s been smiling at you like that ever since that day, and every time, you feel yourself fall deeper and deeper for her.)


One day, she accidentally leaves her sketchbook opened on the table as she goes to the bathroom. You make sure the coast is clear before you move towards her table, wanting to get a peek at the kind of artist she was.

She comes back a minute and a half later and you move away from her table quickly, hoping she didn’t see you completely in awe at the sight of her art.

You know she saw you, but if she has, she doesn’t mention it.


You somehow manage to convince the owner of the shop to talk to Maya. Your boss reluctantly agrees to go speak with the girl, but only if you accept to work a little longer tonight. You accept her offer, hoping Maya will agree to have some of her paintings exposed in the shop.

A few days later, two beautiful scenery paintings are hung in the shop by you and your friend. He doesn’t ask how you did it or how she had possibly agreed to give away two of her paintings for free, but you both know that everything happened for a reason.


She comes in one afternoon, practically covered in paint, with a bright green paint streak that almost matched the one she had on the class picture of her back in middle school.

“Hi.” She says to you. You expect her to continue her sentence, to give you her order, but she doesn’t. You look up from the cash register to her.

“Hey.” You greet back.

“I’m Maya.” The blonde says.

“Riley.” You reply.

“At what time do you get off of your shift, Riley?” She asks.

(That night, she treats you to dinner.)

Filling emptiness

The first time she told you
she loved you, she filled your
body with her fingerprints.
She dabbed them in the ponds
behind your bones and
you took everything can
came with;

Now her body is a scatter of
broken dishes and closed curtains,
you don’t recognize her
anymore. Her prints on your
body are gone, and you
wonder if they left when
you weren’t looking.

now she scatters her
fingerprints only to fill



Hello :-(
Sophie got a super bad grooming today and I was wondering if you guys think she has enough ACTUAL eyebrow fur left to create a kind of eyebrow like on the right:-(
I’m hoping the groomers will fix her tomorrow for free bc everything is bad, her “skirt” (that we asked not to include…) her shaved belly (that we asked not to have shaved), her weird stringy “leggings” (lol). I’m so upset :-(
Coda, a castle fanfic | FanFiction

“Wasn’t sure you still cared about your girl there,” Tyson muses, nodding his head towards the monitor, the image of Beckett squirming on an operating table making his guts churn. “It’s too bad. Pretty sure she thinks you’ve given up on her. I wonder if she has any hope left in you at all.” Tyson glances back to the screen, grinning when he notices Nieman drifting into the camera’s view, tracing Kate’s jawline with a metal tool that gleams with wicked promise in the dull lighting. “Probably not.”

An AU version of sorts for the events of Resurrection (7x14) and Reckoning (7x15), set in season 4.

For jerrytysons. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful idea, I hope this lives up to at least a fraction of your expectations :)


You had wounds already
That gaped raw
When she left you
Throwing salt over her shoulder
Like a bad omen
I lick it up in eager strokes
Where it landed
In the hairy line
Above your navel
I hold her at the tip of my tongue
And as she turns bitter in my throat
I wonder how you tasted
Before she left you