i can tell you about the demons that tuck me in every night, and how i lay awake with them, trying to fill this void in my heart with the loss of lost cause.

i can tell you about the way she touched my soul and not my body and how no one else tried to untangle the mess my mind has been in. but her.

i can tell you how i fantasize of never being heard of again because of the ache i feel deep in my bones and the dryness of my throat that can’t compare to the driest sahara.

i can tell you how i spill my feelings all into one text, and how i can’t get myself to send it, in fear of something. something greater than fear. rejection. how i see you happy without me, but happier with her.

the shock i got when i realized i made a mistake, will forever leave a burn on every place you’ve ever looked on my body and every place you’ve ever touched. the fire will burn and burn until someone else comes along, and puts it out. hopefully, that someone will someday be you again.

the final story i will ever tell is the story on how i wrote hundreds of poems to my ex lover, and how she would never read them. the poems about me being left broken on the bathroom floor, while i carve her name into the yellow tinted walls, asking the heavens why they wanted to collide two different worlds, who loved each other a little too much.

—  me ( stressed-kitten.tumblr.com )
If you're not going to take care of yourself I will

Iker stops eating and starts working out more being scared of getting old. Sergio wants Iker to stop - prompt from kramering

Iker laid on the bed eyes open. He looked out of the window numbly. He just looked outside without any thought in his mind. He felt so tired but he couldn’t sleep. He felt so hungry but he couldn’t need. He had to be strong and fight it off. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t get any more weight on and he couldn’t be tired already. He couldn’t become old.

It had all started when the retirement rumors came again. Iker had been staring at the news bad feeling getting to him. No he wasn’t old. He wasn’t too old to play. No. He would still have good years to play. He decided to ignore the magazines.

But it wasn’t that easy. The words from the magazine spinned in his head. When he looked to the mirror he saw an old grey man looking to him and he started feeling sick by it. He looked to his body and it felt even worse. He was starting to look old. His body was looking old.

That’s when he started to eat less and less. When he started to work out more. He wanted to stay in good shape. He wasn’t going to be old now. No. He had many more years to come. He wasn’t old, he kept telling himself every day.

The only one to notice this all was Sergio but every time he tried to not about it to Iker he only got glare and grumpy answer. Sergio saw how every morning after Iker got out of the bed he looked to the mirror and frowned. Sergio felt his heart break every time he saw that. It even hurt more when he saw the food amounts on Iker’s plate getting smaller and smaller. Every time he tried to put little bit more food to Iker’s plate he only shouted to him and moved to eat away from him.

Sergio knew he couldn’t let it happen anymore. If Iker would go longer everyone would notice and Iker would only get himself sick and hurt. Sergio looked Iker lie on the bed and left downstairs to get food. He had to get him to eat something.

Iker was sitting on the bed looking through channels when Sergio walked back to the room. He didn’t move his gaze. He just stared blankly to the tv. When Sergio sat to the bed next to Iker, he finally moved his gaze only to see him with a plate full of different fruits and a fork. Iker glared up to Sergio.

“You will eat these”, Sergio said to him with a calm voice and looked to Iker’s eyes. “And I’ll make sure you will eat.”

“I’m not going to eat any of those”, Iker said and turned to the tv.

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