that will always wonder where they went wrong

People ask me all the time why I’m so afraid of falling in love. I’m afraid because I don’t want to fall so insanely hard for a person only for them to leave me like I never meant a damn thing. I’m afraid that no matter how many sweet things I say or do, it just won’t be good enough. I’m afraid that after kissing me goodbye they are going to go off and kiss somebody else hello. I’m afraid of falling deeper in love with someone everyday while they are falling out of love everyday. I’m afraid of the pain that comes with heartbreak. I’m afraid to deal with the countless nights of crying and endless questions wondering where everything went wrong. I’m so terrified of the concept of love but no matter how great my fear is I always let myself fall, I fall every damn time.

I don’t know if you love her, and I don’t know if she loves you either, but I do know you are giving her all the attention you used to give me. I lay in bed and wonder where I went wrong. What I didn’t have that you needed, that you now found in her. You always told me I was the perfect girl for you, everything you wanted inside and out. I wonder when that changed.

I just hope she knows what to do when you’re so sad you can’t even breathe, and I hope she knows to stay on the phone with you even when your mom is screaming at you. Because I know you feel low when she’s mean to you.

I hope she knows to stay up until you fall asleep to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.

I hope she knows to kiss your neck when your eyes are sad.

I hope she knows to hold you when you feel like you’ve lost everything and you need to cry.

I hope she reminds you of how proud she is of you for staying strong when your life is shit, and I hope she gives you a reason to keep going. Because I know a lot of the time you just need someone to tell you that everything’s going to be okay.

I hope she remembers to remind you of how much you mean to her, and that her life would never be the same without you.

I hope she reminds you to take your medication, because I know that you forget sometimes, or you don’t want to, and I know it makes you feel like someone cares. I always, always care.

I hope she knows that when you get quiet, it’s because you’re feeling sad and thinking about everything you could’ve been, but missed out on. I hope she reminds you of how great you are, and that it’s never too late to be who you want to be.

I hope she remembers to lay her head on your shoulder from time to time, like I did on our first date. I remember you told me that makes you feel important. It’s important to feel important.

I hope she reminds you not to drink too much, because you always get angry when you’re drunk. And I hope she lets you drunk call her at 2 AM when all you can slur out is a series of “I love you”s.

I hope she stays up as long as she needs to in order to make sure you can breathe again.

I hope she realizes how lucky she is to be able to love you. Loving you is work, I won’t lie, but God it is amazing. Loving you is amazing.

I hope she takes all the pain away. I hope she gives you everything I couldn’t.

—  I hope she knows how to love you like I did
Maybe I was wrong to keep saying “always” —- “I’ll always love you.” “You’ll always be my favorite.” – because it gave you an excuse to take me for granted. You think I’ll ALWAYS be here. But one day you’ll wake up and wonder where I went, when the truth is, I had been missing for quite awhile.
—  Open your fucking eyes.
I was thinking last night. I was thinking that I had it all wrong. I fucked up. I messed up everything about us. I thought to myself, where did I go wrong? You once said those years were some of the best years of your life. When I look back, I’ve always wondered why I saw more pain than I saw love. I’ve always wondered why I saw anger more than I did tenderness. I soak in this type of environment and became a cactus. I live in this type of art and become saddened by regret. I was thinking as I held her last night, as she cried, I wonder if I did the same for us, maybe, that’s where I went wrong. Maybe that’s why they call it maturing. Maybe that’s why they call it changing. Maybe that’s why they call it learning from your mistakes. I don’t let people cry alone anymore because I know the emotional harm it does. I know that it makes people apologize because they may feel like they’ve done something wrong. I was thinking last night as a river poured onto my shirt. Where did I place your ocean? Has it dried up? I’m left here wondering why this poetic desert is nothing but a wasteland of empty letters I couldn’t write. I messed up and I’m a mess. I text you from here to there because I’ll be honest, I miss your friendship almost as much as I miss loving you. I miss you almost as much as I miss having us together. We wrote such a crappy ending, we did. We had every author add a torn page into an already sad book. We are some main characters, right? That’s the jacked up part. I’m still writing and writing and writing and writing. I guess after these long months, you still slip from my hands. I’ve ran out of excuses and I’ll be direct. It’s always a bit hard when you can’t get people out of your mind, I’m not one to lie. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of exhausting myself. I tell myself that I don’t need any of it, not any of our memories and not any of our laughter. I was thinking last night and the worst part is, I still haven’t quite figured out why I’m writing this and why it’s about you. The source of my poetry and why I’m still stuck here writing about you. You may not read this, you may. I’m not quite sure anymore, but if you do. If you do, I guess what I’ve been meaning to say is no matter how much I avoid you, still
—  I miss you.

I used to hear a voice that sounded like yours and feel that heartbreak all over again.

I used to see someone who looked like you in a crowded room and wonder where it all went wrong.

I used to read your texts and cry to myself at night.

But not anymore. Now I hear someone say something you’ve said to me before and instead of feeling broken, I smile to myself. Now when I see someone who looks like you, I laugh a little remembering our times together.

I no longer keep the texts you sent me, and I no longer hope that its you when I get a text, because I’ve moved on.

I’ll always miss you, or maybe I won’t. One thing is for sure, I’ll never forget our happiest memories, or the heartbreak they all ended in.

The only thing I can do, is come to peace with the fact that it wasn’t meant to be.

—  Late night thoughts
His eyes would grow soft; that’s how I knew he was lying. His eyes only searched my face with such concern when his mouth searched her skin the night before. Our relationship was too much too fast and not enough love to last. Promises were never kept and wandering hands were inevitable. He used me in every way there is to use a person. He took and took until I no longer had, given nothing in return except the countless nights spent wondering where we went wrong. There was a time when he looked me in the eyes and felt more than just sorry. But that’s all it is, isn’t it? One person always ending up feeling just sorry. Sorry for this, sorry for that. But never really apologetic. Never really meaning it.
—  I asked her why she hated apologies
He tells you he doesn’t want to get attached, he kisses you when you give him presents but he never buys you anything, he lets you pay for your train tickets when you go to his place and doesn’t walk you back to the station cause he “doesn’t want to leave the house today”, he lets you wait for him for hours only to tell you that he’s not free tonight, he texts you early in the morning when he wants to fuck, he can’t be bothered to write you even a two line message when you’re away from him for three weeks, he always takes hours and hours to reply to your texts. And yet, when he decides that he’s had enough fun with you, when he decides that you’re getting boring, when he stops everything with no further explanation, you will still find a way to blame yourself for it; you will still find a way to wonder where you went wrong.
—  Cause it’s always your fault right?
13/7: Would Meet Again AU

Character A has always had a tendency to come across the number ‘13′ around every corner: movie theatre seats, room numbers, addresses, number of people they’ve seen die, etc. Because of this, they thought that their 13th relationship would be the one that stuck, but after a very messy break up, Character A is left in shambles and wondering where they went wrong or why destiny loved to mess with them. They walk down the street and sit at a bus stop at 13th and 7th. While they are looking down with silent tears falling, a stranger (Character B) tries to sit down but misses the bench and falls into a puddle. Character A stifles a giggle and looks up at Character B who has the number 7 tattooed on all but one of their knuckles. Character B cracks a grin.

Imagine: Draco Comforting You When You Don't Have a Date to the Yule Ball

Request: Hey I was wondering if you could do a Draco Malfoy imagine where you don’t have a date to the Yule ball and you’re really bummed about it and Draco can see that you are not yourself. And he asks you what’s wrong and he comforts you and tells you that he’s always had feelings for you. Could you make it cute and fluffy. I would appreciate it so much. Thanks!!☺️


You sighed as the last group of kids in your house left to go to the Yule Ball. You really wanted to go, but no one asked you. You went up to the Astronomy Tower and just sat down where you felt you had the best view of the night sky. You pulled your legs to your chest and rested your head on your knees, sighing again.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” You jumped in surprise at the voice. You never heard someone else come up. You turned to see who it was.

“Oh, hi Draco,” you said, forcing a small smile.

“Is there a reason that you’re sitting up here alone on a cold winter night. Without a jacket, might I add.” He asked.

“Yeah, kind of,” you answered, shivering. It really was cold.

“Mhmm,” he hummed in response. “Well why don’t you come down to the Slytherin common room with me and tell me why.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you up before you could even reply. He threw an arm over your shoulders and you leaned into his warmth. He chuckled and led you down to the dungeons.

He sat you down on the couch and walked away. He came back a moment later with a blanket. He sat down next to you and put the blanket over the two of you. He pulled you close to him and forced you to look at him.

“Now tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured, concern in his eyes.

You sighed. “Well I really wanted to go to the Yule Ball, but I don’t have a date. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s just really upsetting, especially since I had to watch all my friends get ready and how excited all my friends were.”

Draco stared at you with his grey eyes and shook his head. “I knew I should’ve asked you. I really wanted to, Y/N, but I thought you’d say no. Truth is, I kind of really like you.” You saw his pale skin tint with a blush.

“I would’ve said yes. I kind of really like you too, Draco.”

Draco smiled down at you. “We could still go, you know. If we get ready quickly.”

“We could. But I think I’d rather stay right here.” You cuddled up to him and Draco chuckled and kissed your forehead. He ran his fingers through your hair and the two of you stayed there like that all night.

Things I used to love

(A/N): More loki!

Warnings: Angst

Originally posted by lamoissondejuillet

   Loki didn’t used to be this- this thing. He used to be full of compassion and Love. He wasn’t his monster that he is today. Loki wasn’t always so heartless, in fact he was famous for his good, kind nature. 

   He used to love reading and talking about the wonderous stories and adventures he had read, he used to love smelling flowers, he used to love watching the sun rise and set in asgard (it was such a pretty sight), he used to love sneaking into the kitchens and stealing some food from the cooks laughing in their faces when they scolded him playfully, he used to love listening to music, it had always been so peaceful and calming, he used to love wandering about the castle taking in every sight his eyes could, he used to love travelling to midgard and watching humans travel about their lives. That’s where he went wrong, that’s when his compassion got the best of him, that’s when he met (Y/N). 

   He had seen them on the street, sipping from a teacup, their eyes scanning over their phone. Loki didn’t usually interfere with human’s lives but something attracted him to them and Loki would have been foolish to ignore his desires. With such ease and elegance Loki nearly floated over to the table and sat down, a kind smile upon his face. 

   “I do not wish to intrude,” Loki gave a warm smile. “I just couldn’t help but  come over and introduce myself,” He grabbed (Y/N)’s hand and placed a soft kiss to their knuckles, a sly smirk upon his face. “I am Loki Laufeyson, and who might you be?” In a quiet voice that had Loki melting (Y/N) murmured shyly, 

  “(Y/N) (Y/L/N),”

   Immediately Loki and (Y/N) became friends, they spent a good deal of time together and it didn’t take long for Loki to find himself falling in love with the peculiar (albeit wonderful) (Y/N). 

   It wasn’t even a few months after becoming friends that Loki told (Y/N) of his feelings. 

   “I-I seem to have fallen in love,” Loki murmured softly as he stared at his hands folded neatly in his lap. (Y/N) had smiled, brushing a warm hand along Loki’s cheekbone before murmuring back, 

  “Me too,”

   Everything had been going swell for a few months, the two were happy and Loki had even admitted where he had really come from. (Y/N) of course, was more than understanding and loving towards the Asgardian (”I knew that accent sounded strange,”). But it had all gone down hill from there. 

   All it took was one visit to Asgard and everything turned to shit. One minute everything had been peaceful and serene and the next there were warriors running about, screaming about battles and monsters. Unfortunately (Y/N) had gotten stuck in the crossfire and wasn’t able to get out. When the news reached Loki back at the palace he didn’t know what to do. Scream, cry, go on a rampage, all of the above? Loki stood motionless, his eyes blurring with tears as Thor retold the story. 

   “I’m sorry brother,” Thor’s voice was soft and somewhat calm. “I couldn’t get them out and-” But Loki had had enough. With a scream that could shatter the clouds, Loki demanded Thor to leave. He of course complied, leaving Loki to mourn his sudden loss. But Loki wasn’t content with mourning, no, he needed revenge. What used to be a kind, warm soul was suddenly twisting into something much darker, eviler, something that would have shocked even the darkest Gods. 

   It didn’t take long for Asgard to fall apart at Loki’s fingertips, he was a very influential man after all. Everyone bowed down before him, scared of his now infamous wrath. 

   Loki used to be a kind, warm soul. He used to love many things. He used to love (Y/N). But after what he held near and dear to his heart was stripped away from him he was no longer that man. Instead, he was this evil, tormented creature that wouldn’t hesitate to kill a man if he looked at him wrong. Loki wished he’d never travelled to midgard that day, wished he’d never laid eyes upon (Y/N). He wished he’d never fallen in love. 

If you had a bad day, I need you to know that there are always more tomorrows waiting for you. You’ll get second chances, You’ll love and be loved. You’ll see more concerts, you’ll watch more sunsets. You’ll sit on the shower floor as tears roll down your cheek and the water pressure from the faucet outweighs your grief, You’ll lie awake in bed at night wondering where you went wrong.You’ll feel heartbreak, you’ll feel lonely. But more importantly, You’ll see road trips, You’ll see coffee shops, You’ll see sunsets and airports. And one day, You will see your own face in the mirror, and smile gently. Because You are alive, You are human, You’ve made it this far.

Enough - Part 1 (Michael Clifford fluff)

Hollow. Empty. Void. Vacant. Worthless.

Sometimes I sit and wonder how I went from a happy and vibrant teen to a broken and lifeless woman. Sometimes I try and reflect on my decisions; on where it all went wrong. I can narrow it down to a person, but not a moment. Every feeling of insecurity and uselessness can be traced back to him.

Back to Michael.

It wasn’t always bad. In fact, at times it seemed like utter perfection, but hindsight is always 20/20, and it’s easy to see now that I was on a crash course from the very beginning.

It all started several years ago, when reluctantly I attended a concert in Sydney with my good friend from school. Becca was in love with Hot Chelle Rae, and being the good and loyal friend I was, I attended with her. It was there that we first met the members of 5 Seconds of Summer, the band opening for the group we had come to see. Becca was more interested in trying to meet Nash Overstreet, but it was Michael Clifford that caught my eye.

He was tall, lanky, and slightly awkward, his dark blonde fringe flopping sweetly over one eye. He shyly asked me out for pizza and as we walked he hesitantly intertwined our fingers. After three dates he kissed me, and that was the beginning of the end. I knew I was falling for him, but we never actually defined our relationship. For a while I was fine with it; I wanted him to live his dreams and not be held back. I was proud of him, and I knew he’d never hurt me.

Over the next year his band blew up and they became international sensations, and for a while I was left behind. He traveled with the band and played shows all over the world. He met new people and sometimes went on dates, but I was also a consistent presence in his life. All it took was a few late night phone calls and his tentative declarations of missing me, and I flew out to see him on tour.

The first time he made love to me in a random hotel room in some random city, I felt complete. I thought that his feelings had developed the way that mine had, and for the first time in a year I fell asleep in his arms with hope for our future together. I was sadly mistaken the next morning, however, when I awoke to an empty bed and a seemingly bottomless pit in my stomach. I sent him several text messages that day, and got nothing but curt responses. I flew home the following day, confused and devastated, but when he called three days later he acted as if nothing had happened.

And so it continued; he would call, I would come running. Each time it happened I berated myself for my foolishness, but I could never say no to Michael. He was too important. I loved him too much.

He would pick me up from the airport and spend the night treating me like a princess and causing hope to bloom in my chest. Candlelit dinners and moonlit walks led back to his hotel room where we would fall into bed together for a night of passion that always ended in tears of loneliness and my freshly broken heart.

After several months, the rumors started to surface of others just like me. He was spotted and photographed with other women, and tabloids and gossip bloggers were constantly accusing Michael of having “groupies”. At first I dismissed them as nothing more than desperate people looking to cash in on Michael’s fame and success, but the more and more I heard the less I was able to explain away.

So here I was, five years into a pseudo-relationship with the love of my life, and I’d finally come to terms with my position in his world: irrelevance.

I stared at the screen of my laptop, emotionless and silent. The photo that I had been scrutinizing for the past two hours was permanently burned into my mind, but I was still unable to look away. It was a blurry photo, but I could tell it was him. And it wasn’t just Michael, but it was Michael with his arms around a curvy brunette, his face shoved into her neck and her head thrown back in laughter. The caption below the photo read that several eyewitnesses had observed the popular guitarist and his girlfriend pawing at each other throughout the night before leaving in a cab together and arriving later at his hotel. The woman was never seen leaving that night.

It took that photo for me to realize the truth: he could have anyone he wanted, and he knew that. I was never anything more than a convenience for him, and that truth filled me with more self-hatred than anything. From day one he meant everything to me, but I never meant a thing to him. He never loved me; he used me, and I let him.


Michael had called four days ago, and I watched the screen for the first time without answering the call. He left no message, and I heard nothing until the following day. He called again, and this time I pressed the small red button to decline the call. A minute later, a text came through from Michael asking me if I was available to talk. Hoping it would stop any further correspondence, I typed back a quick “No,” and silenced my phone.

During that time, I did my best to avoid everything and everyone. I cried, I screamed, I broke everything that reminded me of him. I was angry, I was sad, I was disappointed in myself. I never saw myself as weak, but now I knew that weakness was my most prominent trait and it disgusted me.

I let him rule me. I let him change me. I let myself settle for so much less than I deserved, and I hated myself for it.

I sat in the darkness of my empty bedroom, the lights off and curtains drawn as the thunder crashed outside. The only light in the black space was coming from the screen of my phone as it buzzed repeatedly from its place on my night stand. I closed my eyes to block it out, unsure of my strength as the hours and days wore on. I opened my eyes again as another call went to voicemail, but within seconds it was ringing again, the sight of his name on the screen causing the anger to bubble in the pit of my stomach again.

Without another thought, I picked up my phone and hurled it at the wall, a satisfied grin stretching across my face as it shattered into pieces and fell to the floor with the rest of the broken pieces of my past.

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Let’s start by calling it off.

i. and then we stop our thoughts from wandering their way–the way they used to laugh, and how their presence always felt like home.

ii. we stop wishing they’re still there–to hold you us when we’re sad, and listen to non-sense stuffs. We stop hugging our favorite pillow and pretending it’s them

iii. we stop searching for reasons–we stop backtracking where exactly things went wrong–because it wouldn’t really make much of a difference to know

iv. we stop making excuses just to patch things back simply because there’s nothing left to fix, anymore. Nothing

v. we stop wondering how they’re doing–if they’re doing any better than us

vi. we stop asking if they really loved us–if they really meant it when they acted like they care

vii. we stop looking at old pictures–reliving those moments when everything’s still good, when you were still both happy

viii. then we stop blabbering about them–the look in their eyes during the nights they were being truthful, and during the nights that they’re not

ix. and then we stop stalking their social media accounts. We stop browsing the pictures they’re recently tagged in and stop searching for the names of the unfamiliar faces of those who are with them

x. then we start acting like normal–like everything’s fine, when the truth is, the mere sound of their names echoing on our ears is already enough to tear our hearts still
—  Ces Castaño // moving on
I remember falling in love with her like it was yesterday. Her beautiful eyes, her alabaster skin covered in freckles, her gentle smile and long arms that always kept me warm. I can’t help but wonder where I went wrong? She left me to go and discover herself. She has been gone for almost a week, helping orphans in another country with another girl. Meanwhile, I’m on the verge of suicide, because how can someone live without a heart?

As a possibility for Nicola’s future employment, Malcolm may consider the key people a somewhat *unlikely* prospect, while the university…well, that clearly never even begins to cross his mind as a possible option for her post-political career. 

Which maybe says more about him than her, but it does make me wonder what Nicola must look like on paper in terms of being a competent human being.  (On the grounds that being offered a position at Yale is a pretty big deal.)  She must have a fairly impressive CV, but of course a CV doesn’t record encounters with the press and that’s really where it always went horribly wrong for her.

Keep reading

ive done something
every day 
since that bad thing happened
and ive noticed that ive tried
to pinpoint the exact moment 
where everything went wrong 
and a mosaic of everything we were
and everything we will never be
is laid out in front of me and

i don’t wonder anymore about
what would happen if I saw you
in the middle of the grocery store 
or if you got a haircut
or into that college you always dreamed about 
or if she sounds like me when she laughs

 I don’t even think about 
how i’d react if someone brought up your name

i spend my time thinking about 
the moments leading up to that night
like that night in june you finally told me how you felt and i laughed because i thought you were kidding or how 
i can’t buy that brand of bug spray 
or listen to that album without 
thinking of lying on your chest 
one last time

i am no longer the person I was that night I threw my arms around your neck 
in your shining porch light 
or girl you used to cheat off of in math class or the
one you promised that nothing was ever going to change to because she no longer exists
and something tells me that you certainly aren’t the person who walked away that night either

and i forgive you 
and i forgive myself

sometimes I stitch pieces of the puzzle 
pieces of us and try to fit them back together 
just to see where we would’ve ended up
what we would’ve been now 
if we just figured it out
but the picture is unclear because

you still hold on to pieces of me 
even if you don’t want them
so I can’t put the picture back together 
but sometimes I think if I could

it would be beautiful.

The Best Laid Plans: A Meta on the Downfall of Laurel Lance

FYI- This is not about the grave, but rather my thoughts on where the writers initially went wrong with LL’s character.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way…

I’ve always wondered what the writers/producers first thought back in Season 1 when they started to get both fan and media backlash on their characterization of Laurel Lance.

Their original intentions for Arrow very much included the canon development of the Green Arrow/Black Canary storyline, a storyline with decades of proven comic success. So how could it have spun so quickly out of control in this adaptation? Why did the audience rebel against Laurel so quickly?

Everyone has his or her own experience and reasoning, I’m sure. I’ve heard people chalk it up to lack of chemistry, acting talent, or even the introduction of Felicity. However, none of those things factored in for me.

Personally, I started to turn on Laurel Lance halfway through episode 1x01. Yup. I liked Laurel for exactly 30 minutes of an episode before it started to go swiftly downhill.

I’ll get to exactly why in a minute but, before that, lets think about just what the writers intended to set up for the first third or half of the 1st season: Oliver Queen’s transition from spoiled, selfish, irresponsible playboy to tormented, selfless, city-saving vigilante.

To do that, they chose to exaggerate both sides of him. At the same time they introduced the deadly vigilante assassin, they also introduced the asshole playboy who took his girlfriend’s sister on a secret yacht sexcation.

Now, lets consider how they planned on fixing the chasm between Laurel & Oliver over the next couple of seasons:

Keep reading


Have I?

Have I withdrawn so much
That you think of me
As a passing thought,
Or as a memory that you
Wish you could forget?
Am I such a part of your past,
Like a lover who broke your heart,
Always there as a reminder
How you could make mistakes,
Never to repeat?
Did I become such a regret
When the tales are told to
New lovers, will I be even mentioned,
Will you swallow my name,
As you get lost in their embrace?
Would I to tell you different,
That the reason I’m no more
Is that you chose to close this door,
Causing me to stand and wonder
Where it was that I went wrong?
Stories could take forever, but that
Is not what you are seeking,
Wishing I had mo sense of reason
To love you as I did, for you
Could never be, never were, forever more.
I still think of you with each
Passing breath, every song
That comes my way, tearing into
My subconscious, wishing you
Would grab that phone.
What I’d give to you, right now,
To let you know that we could still
Find a place in Heaven, given one
More chance of pleasure, if we
Swallow up our pride, open up,
Say, “I love you,” and good night.

-H. Murcia 2:46PM 9/27/2016