spiled

This is how lives separate.

It’s as if each of us is a string, two strands that somehow become woven and tangled together, the way little girls like to practice braiding on stolen yarn from their mother’s sewing kit.

But then that practice braid becomes forgotten.

And slowly becomes to unravel.

It doesn’t unravel all at once. No, it’s a slow, elegant process. Some part of myself is still tied up with him, but not as much. I wake up today and realize that I don’t miss him as much as I did a month ago, a week ago, a day ago.

All we need is a slight tug—a kiss from a new crush, a flirtatious touch, a warm hug on a frigid day—to completely separate us. Two strings, separate once again, until we become part of another braid.

—  an-iota-of-me 

She was the first wild thing you ever touched,
and your scars still bleed sometimes.

She was all rabbit eyes, fawn legs,
and the claws of a lioness.
And you held your chains above your head
like you wished you could catch her,
make her yours.

Oh silly boy,
you can’t tame wild things.

—  You can’t tame wild things. by r.b
Every detail you love and hate about yourself
Leaves me in awe
As if I’m stargazing from the highest point of the Earth
On its darkest night
I let you catch me staring as a reminder
You laugh and try to hide your face as usual
Even the most beautiful creations
Wonder why they’re admired
—  zestforlifee
If monstrous waves come to tear us apart tonight, I want to tell you something. Thank you, for teaching me how to play rummy on my grandmas cellar floor. Thank you for never mistaking my crossed arms for boarded up doors. Thank you from here to there. Thank you for loving me on my bright days and for still loving me when the sun wasn’t there. I hope that you hear me over the hurricane cries. I hope you know that every time I prayed for stronger tides to pull me away they always brought me back to your front stoop. The salt water always helps me find my way back to you.
—  b.e.fitzgerald
You deserve better, you know, someone who is easier to love. Someone who you feel safe with, comfortable with. Someone you can love consistently and continuously. Someone who you can grow with and laugh with and cry with. Someone who doesn’t make bad jokes or babble as much, who reads books other than the sad ones. Someone who gives you moments you can remember clearly, and who wakes everything inside of you up. Someone you trust with every inch of your being and someone you know won’t wake up as the sun and turn into a tsunami by the moon. That’s who you should be with, that’s who will make you the happiest. But I will love you the most. And no someone will ever be able to love you more.
—  I’m sorry I have to go
There’s someone else now. Someone who treats me like the way I wanted you to. He cares for me. He makes me feel safe. He makes me want to forget you. He makes me smile. He holds my hand. He’s everything I wanted you to be. But for some twisted reason it’s still you.
—  It’s always gonna be you
I think about the future a lot. Not about “where am I going to college” “how the hell am I going to pick a major” “I’ve got to grow up” future. I wonder about the future when I’m sitting in my house, maybe while my kids are asleep in the other room and my husband is watching tv on the couch. Or maybe sitting in my house, surrounded by my 9 dogs and very large book collection. Either one I’m completely fine with. I picture myself sitting there, thinking back to this very moment that I write this. I want to go back to this exact place. Leaning up against a column in an empty gym while my sister runs on the treadmill. I think back to my youth. To reading this book that’s sitting in my lap while I type this. To my senior year and the late night jam outs on our way to this gym. Almost a second home at this point. I wonder if I’ll remember this exact moment. The more I type the more I can almost grasp the overwhelming nostalgia my future self has for this place. I want to be here. In this moment. Peaceful. Without any concerns. Thankful for the life I have. I want to be here, now. And I hope I remember this and that I want to be here then as well.
—  s-kat-temps

“I’m almost 19. I love my boyfriend and I just want our life to start already.”

When you can still remember how someone’s touch feels months after they’ve left you broken, lungs collapsing, lungs burning, they were more than just someone. When you can take them back in less than a blink of an eye or a beat of your heart because without them it doesn’t beat at all, you’re hopeless. When instead of learning about exponential proofs you’re recalling the warmth of their palm against your neck and the way their fingers danced down the flat of your chest, you’re too lost to get back. And when they quit reassuring you and asking if you’re okay and when their replies become shorter and their glances come slower and you feel yourself gasping and swallowing to keep afloat, you’re fucked.
I badly wanted to be the girl that he wants. I wanted him to be mine the way he wants to call her his. I wanted him to feel the same intensity of feelings that I feel every time his skin brushes against mine even for the slightest bit. I want his heart to call for my name too like the way it called for hers. And I’m so damn jealous of her because she gets to have him in a way that I never can. She broke his heart and I’d gladly fix it for him even if I break my own heart in the process.If he just gave me the chance. But he still yearned for her and I know that he’d choose her over me in a heartbeat. God knows I’d fucking do anything to be that girl. But the problem is I’m just me
—  the girl who loved and got her heart broken