And even after
The years have passed
I’ll always think
Of the way
You looked at me,
The way you
looked into me,
and the loving
shadow you cast
And even after
The years have passed
I’ll always think
Of the way
You looked at me,
The way you
looked into me,
and the loving
shadow you cast

Yesterday, you hold my hands mainly wrapped my body at your arms. It was cold, freezing I guess but fortunately you were so warm. You whispered me something unclear but something I can recognize so well. Something I’m badly dying to hear. Something my eardrums delight to hear. Something I will tell to my sister. Something nags me even at dreams.
Today, I asked you to say it again. Much to my dismay, it changed. It wasn’t something I’m expecting. It wasn’t something that can butters me in. Instead, it’s the words I fear to hear. It’s the nightmare that scares me out from slumber. Tears fall as it resonates to my soul, “I have loved you yesterday, but not until now and I’m sorry”. It shakens my breath and my heart died because of you, the human-cage this innocent-moving-stuff-in-my-chest picked.

PS. Will there be someone who can sew my heart and fixed it back? Or will it still him?

So if I got hit by a bus during all of this I wouldn’t even be able to tell you? That’s excellent. I’m sorry that me trying to actually express an opinion on this makes you have to block me. Why is that? Too bothersome for you? Too annoying to hear from the stupid girl and her stupid opinions? Cutting your losses?
Well you did it. You lost me. Made enough zig zags and jumps and shortcuts for me to lose your tail. Is that what you wanted? Because here I am giving you the space you need. But what I’m trying to figure out is how breaking my heart will help make us better friends. You’re leaving for good, aren’t you? I wish you could have at least said bye properly. You know, instead of the crappy texts “bye” and “I’m going to have to step back”.
—  💜 - A Look At Who We Were

Our bed is an asylum of broken pieces
the sheets fostered a home to
and beside you they claimed a spot
for mending, and forgetting

every time my heart trembles
it’s a little less scared of the risk
that your warmth on my skin is the sun i need;
your every breath is my morning rebirth

so stay with me under cold drapes
i don’t use to hide anymore
but instead i crumple at the sight
of your body next to me

a delicate imagery of what happy endings feel
before time strikes for you to go home again

—  s.c
I just hit send on a message I desperately hope I’ll get a reply to – but know in my heart I never will.
It’s agonizing – to love someone this much and be unable to express it to them… To hold so much love inside that it’s eating you alive and be completely helpless to do anything about it. You just have to hold it in, lock it up tight with the hurt and pain of feeling rejected and hope that your emotions don’t drive you over the edge.
So now there’s nothing left to do but wait for an eventuality that will never occur, and when the waiting stops and the realization hits that I’ll never hear back from you – it’s all downhill from there.
So I just sit here re-reading my own message over and over, analyzing it under a microscope of low self-esteem and assume I did something wrong. Did I say too much? Did I make it too obvious how much I still care? Did it reek of desperation and loneliness?
Or was it too casual, too lighthearted? Did it sound like I don’t care at all? Like I’m making light of what we were, or worse, like it never even happened at all! Did I hurt your feelings? Do you even still have any?
This is all so stupid and I know it’s my own fault because I set myself up for this. I knew we felt differently about everything that’s happened, but I still had to write that damn message…
and worst of all… I had to hit send…
—  Ranata Suzuki  “No Reply”
It is a night heaving with stars, ambulance flickers in your eyes, all the red we dream of, all the red we conceal. Dripping out through the warped ceiling, bleeding down the bark of murdered trees. Your love lingers in the room like a corpse like a sigh, and I curl up like a crescent moon, relieve my hands of this shame by stitching them to your neck. Now the shadows render us like fairytale beasts and little red riding hood is in the kitchen rearranging knives for teeth and I blossom with peculiarities. I am the percussion of a poisoned ghost, roaming these wayward streets in her sallow night gown, her sorrow a sacred dome enwreathed like a garden hedge around her. I am a nightbloomer in flames and all the chaos reconciles me the way the rain hushes the earth, the way you grasp for grapes in candle lit rooms ablaze with your name. Sometimes I don’t feel human. Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong. The world as a violin that isn’t attuned to me, the world as the actor who plays my enemy. Listen, I’ve heard of flowers burned into bridges, hearts like funeral homes that will store all your skeletons for safekeeping. I’ve heard of wolves with kind eyes and seas that speak, but these are stories of ghouls and gods, marring my skin with their speared tongues, whirling sleep. I miss who you were in the summer, fissures in your bones and fault lines in your chest, a voice like scripture and paintings of bees hung on your walls. I miss sleeping with you - playing the perpetrator of all your animal urges, how you faltered knees and rotted apples. The kisses that had me hanging by the edge of evanescence, the kisses that usurped a throne against a shameful sky and prepared a legion of rosedrunk martyrs to die in your stead. Your charred heart a black beach that we all live in, your words like halos in the sparkling autumn air, unforgiving as death and just as beautiful. You, the tsunami, you the bullet, you the shattered axis at the tipping point of my rabid world. We are winged creatures, osculatory blips on the crow’s nest of entropy, carnage in the caustic crumbs we leave behind, song sheets in our sternums. We whisper now of old worlds and spirit wine, of galaxies that fall for the twist of a woman’s hip, of cities burning for less than love. Of all the tragedies that were and all the tragedies that will be. Of the tragedy that is your soul, that in hindsight, is mine. Finally, I turn to you, blood brimming from my lips and desire spoiling my lungs. Find me in the ruins, in weeping poetry, in a meteor shower at the end of the world.
—  And What of The Greeks? || j.r

How unnerving
The veil
Of autumn
When our world
Set on fire
And whimper
Of its newborn
Are whispers
Of a winter’s
As they beat
Against the face
Of nature
In colors
And light
The fact
That these shadows
Of branches
Are indicative
Of their coming
Death -
A tragedy
By God
This season
As a palette
Of jadedness
From the gold
And auburn
As a streak
Of what fate
Shall come.

- J. Pigno

I am so good at pretending that it started to dawn on me the reality of which not even truth or fiction makes sense to me anymore. I am so good at it that all at once, I became stranger than fiction could ever be.
—  iamragr
dear you,
now i know that feelings never do make sense
they get us all confused
then drive us around for hours
then finally drop us right back to where we’ve started
and in my case, i’ve been drove around for months.
—  excerpt from the feelings he’ll never know

Maybe he doesn’t miss you after all, but I know he still thinks about you.

He’s driving down the road and he sees the exact spot where you wrecked his car. He thinks about the way you had tears in your eyes and couldn’t stop saying you were sorry.

He’s going through his closet and sees the shirt you got him for his birthday. He thinks about the way you were biting your lip as he opened it, just hoping he’d love it.

He’s walking down the grocery store aisle and sees your mom. She smiles at him, and she looks so much like you. He wonders how you and your family have been. He hasn’t heard from you in so long.

He’s looking for his old notebook and stumbles across the scrapbook you gave him. He could never bring himself to throwing it away. He can’t help but opening it, and his heart beats a little faster as he turns the pages.

He’s on your road for the first time in months, and looking at your driveway is almost painful. All he can see is you running out of your front door, smiling from the east to the west, jumping into his arms.

So maybe he doesn’t miss you after all, but I promise he still thinks about you. You were kind, you were caring, and you were brave in the way you loved him.

That is a love he will never forget.

—  excerpt from an unfinished book #94 // It still matters even if it wasn’t meant to last forever
I just want you to know I’ve realized things. I loved you. Really loved you. But you can’t keep doing the same thing over and over until you hurt me, even if you don’t mean to. And I’m tired. I’m tired of having to forgive you all the time. I hope you learn from this. You can’t just love someone and leave them hanging. You need to prioritize them, love them, give them time. You did those, but they didn’t last. It turned out all that was left of you was a shadow. I was loving a shadow of a man I used to know.
—  The Girl Who Writes In Ink
When I wrote about love, I imagined your face. That was when I realized I fell for you.
—  C.H.