reblog dis ok

3:27 a.m; 
I lay awake in bed thinking of you, dreaming of you, wishing you were here with me.
5:30 a.m;
An alarm goes off, but I’m already awake. I couldn’t sleep with you in my head.
8:19 a.m;
The day has barely started. I’m already missing you. again.
12:42 p.m;
I want to hear your voice. I need to hear it.
3:54 p.m;
I’m sitting in my home alone. Always alone.
6:37 p.m;
I’ve had too much to drink. I can’t think straight. I miss you.
9:03 p.m;
I look for you in my drunken haze. I search every room. Twice. You’re not here. You left years ago.
12:23 p.m;
I can’t sleep again. It hurts more than usual.
2:54 a.m;
I’m standing at your grave. I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve missed you too much.
3:26 a.m.
Why did you have to die?
—  to the one that lays six feet under // h.l.
I’m so fucking selfish
I act like I want to love him
but all I really want is to ruin him

We haven’t even began yet and I’m already planning the funeral
The empty box of chocolates filled with letters he sent me is already in the back of my car
Waiting for me to drop it off at his doorstep
Just to shove the knife in his chest one last time

I am dreaming of years down the road
He’ll meet another girl who laughs like me and the stitches will come out and he’ll bleed again
Just like the first day I left
He’ll get mad and punch a hole in his wall
Because he doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that the only laugh that sounds as good as mine
Is mine

I only saw him cry twice and I held him and swore that I’d never hurt him
But the thought of him crying over my absence makes me want to kiss him a little longer before I go
Just so I’ll be harder to forget

I am so fucked up
I want to be the girl he thinks of sitting in bed next to his wife on a Sunday morning
The one he’ll tell his son about when he asks of his greatest regret
He’ll wonder how I am
Not enough to call, but enough to get in his car and drive two hours to the place we first kissed

I just want to be the god damn love of his life
But I am so fucking selfish
Because I don’t want him to be mine

—  for once, I want to be the brick instead of the windowpane