she deleted the poem this was from

Nineteen songs on her playlist, because she’s deleted all the songs that spoke of him, eighteen pictures of lucent skies and cute pandas on her wall, two weeks ago there were thirty five photos of her and him dancing in seventh heaven, fourteen eight quotes in that pale blue diary of hers and none of them awake the memories of him, I bet she’s doing fine now, she smells of roses and vanilla, not of heartbreak, she smiles at strangers and sings when her favorite song is playing on the radio, she takes photos of the night sky and her mom, she drives carefully and those red lights don’t make her mind go crazy about the times you used to kiss her cheeks at them, she learnt to love her body and she always offers to do the dishes, she is falling in love with every little moment and feeling, she still cries, but these tears taste like stardust and a new life.
— 

a new life, huh?

http://writies.tumblr.com/ 🌙

8

A very weird photo collage, I know. But hang with me here for a few minutes of pointed rambling, will you?

So many people like to say “the ship has sunk.” “The ship is dead.” And at times, I have agreed with them. But then the above happens. The IFH and then @notevenjokingrightnow finds that picture of them together during the Golden Globes just after the denial, Sam with his arm around Caitriona at their table when they were unaware the camera was on them. Weeks of a drought and Makeup Man gives the couple picture from Saks to us and then deletes it. Cait goes off to Cannes and Tony is there and then when she leaves, she posts that Khalil Gibran poem “On Marriage.” Suspicious winery picture and baseball game footage emerges and then lo and behold, so does that picture of Sam and Mysterious Brunette (cough, Cait). We go through another round of crap and Sam drops that no captions needed picture of him and Caitriona on IG, letting it speak for itself. They bring other dates to the BAFTAs and then Sam likes tweets from obvious shippers about luring him in with Caitriona.

What is my point?? This is a phoenix ship. Every time I do think “yeah, the ‘dream’ is over,” something happens to counteract that. I’m a dreamer. I’m creative and imaginative. I have been for the vast majority of my 29 years on this earth. I’m also smart and capable and opinionated. Perhaps our group here sees things differently than what the reality of the situation is; but maybe we don’t. Regardless, the ship won’t “sink” so long as there is even one person in this fandom who likes to squeal about their friendship. Or relationship. Or even dares to put puzzle pieces together and believe that there is something there being hidden.

Regardless of how this situation turns out, I’m not ashamed to be a shipper or super shipper or whatever new term has been coined to make us sound like we are less than others - because we aren’t. We matter. And I hope everyone remembers that always.

Just stop rereading the old texts. Stop spending your days scrolling through your old pictures. She isn’t coming back so just stop. You deserve to realize you are better than that. Delete the old texts and burn all of your pictures. Erase her from your life but don’t forget how she treated you. You deserve to heal and you can’t do that if you continue to hold on to her. So let go.
—  Let go because you deserve so much better

When she tells you that she doesn’t love you anymore, smile and thank her for telling you even though it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like a pumpkin left out a little to long after halloween.

When she asks if you’re okay, tell her you are, and try to ignore the metal in your mouth as you taste your own lie.

When you go through your phone and pause with your finger over the “delete contact” button, press it even though it feels like it’s burning your hand. No good will come from keeping it.

When you pass old spots and waves of nostalgia crash over you, do not cry, instead grit your teeth and ball your hands into fists and walk past it ignoring the lump in your throat.

When you pass her in the hallway, ignore the way your heart pounds in your ears and focus on each step instead.

And when you break, and go to talk to her, remember that it took you over an hour to work up the nerve. Grit your teeth and ignore how every cell in your body is screaming to run away.

Instead, take a deep breathe, unclench your jaw, open your mouth, and say “hello.” Make awkward small talk and ignore your brain screaming everything you want to say.

And when she sits down beside you, and you forget how to breathe, remember that she never apologized for breaking you, but you apologized 7 times for being angry about it.

And when she says your name for the first time in months, do not cry. Instead, smile and ask her how she’s been.

When she hugs you goodbye, close your eyes and pretend you’re not about to burst into tears. Enjoy that hug, god knows you needed it.

—  When

He saw the shades of lips
and how they never kissed him.

He saw the veins on held hands
and how they would never touch him.

He saw the sorrows of friends who broke
and how it made him fear love
and what it could do to people.

Like the size of your heart would slowly delete itself with every text that she never never returned because she had someone better.

So he thought no one would love him.

And then the shades of her lips
touched his and he truly saw
sunlight for the first time;
the day when she held beauty
into his palms and whispered
“I never want to let you go”
and he heard his friends
exes’s saying this to him,
as if they broke his heart
as much as they broke theirs
and she made him feel.

She made him feel like it was okay to be loved, she made him feel like it was fine to be him.

And so they spent years counting the stars,
and how each one he wrapped into his hands just to place it into her veins, the pulsing ones near her heart and how he held the sun in his palms, even if he bleeds because the burns hurt less than not giving it to her.

And then like all stories and how they end.

She wakes up one day. She wakes up.
It’s a new day. She runs into someone
at a coffee shop and they chat.
And then they meet up later and
she had a drink too many.
And then she comes over and he
smells her breath as she leans over
for a kiss, and he smelled everything
that he had missed and knew was missing.

That’s the saddest thing about this.
He missed her even though he knew
something was missing about her;
something was off, something pained her.

Something pained him.

And he never found out,
she just left.

And just like that,
he saw his first moonlight.

His first real moon.

The full and swelling of it
basking in his lake of tears.

He’ll remember the shades of her lips
as the sun changes throughout the day.
Each sunset, each sunrise;
a lipstick she used to wear for him.

He’ll remember the veins on her hands
as the sun rays caress his hand.

He’ll remember the words of the old lovers
from his best friends and how she said every single word to make him happy, but walked away just like they did and it was never enough for him; to understand such beauty, but cower in fear when it comes to love.

And like that, just like that.

The size of his heart,
it’ll always be like that text
he’ll never send to her.

The rhythm of his heartbeats
that spikes her name
and whispers their song
about unrequited love.

And he’ll drink his own blood
and taste more than his iron,
and I guess that’s why
they say when you love–

—  Prepare to shed blood.
// k.c.