“I stopped dwelling on her,” he said, “I swear to God, I fucking stopped.”

“But honestly there are times when I can still feel her rushing through my veins.”

—  Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #102 // Sometimes, just sometimes
I watch your tired face, and that weary smile you give me and I can’t seem to think of how much you mean to me and how much I adore you. I can’t function without your hugs, your texts and your voice. And it scares me. But I’ve been taught to embrace my fears and overcome them, and so I look away, silently promising to myself for the millionth time, that I will never be scared of giving you your importance because no matter how hard you try, you could never ignore the sun in the daytime and you are my sun. I look back at you, and my heart swells up with gratitude, and all I can say is, “Let’s get you home. ”
—  S.g // 29.07.2016
My mother always said to be kind, but I didn’t listen. So I made friends with the bullies and the morons and let me tell you something about these kind of people who make mistakes as often as they breathe… I found them to have the kindest hearts when they grew out of it and their homes were not as kind, so they never learned any better. So I guess you could say, my poetry stems from bullies and mistakes. My teacher always taught kindness, my fourth grade teacher plays the piano and from time to time, I still hear her keys. So I made friends with my own shadow and from time to time, we share lines of cocaine and we write poetry inside of hearts, my, oh my, there’s no shame in being the one to take all of the blame. I always wanted to be kind, so I guess this poem will be the only kindness leaving my thoughts tonight.
—  anon #6
He dismissed her as nothing, as barely a tiny breeze and just a drop from a wide open sea, but clearly he had forgotten that the most powerful hurricanes begin when the wind disguises itself as the tiniest breeze and the briefest hint of sea.
—  Nikita Gill

You’re too fucking sad and I’m too fucking cold. Sorry, that was blunt. I meant it like this.

Baby, you always get this way. When I touch your heart and you break apart. When I hold your hands and you’re pulling away. When I hold your waist and you’re hiding beneath the sheets. When I say your name, but you’re crying again. When I said I love you, but you’re speechless and somewhere behind the mountain of emotions, you’re a sandstorm waiting to meet snow and you’re a rock slide waiting to collide and I can’t tell if I’m in love with your sad eyes or just another reason as to why you wake up every morning and want to die… I’m sorry.

Baby, I know I’m ice. Ice like veins. Ice like sharp. Ice like winter. Ice like a freezing set of tears being melted from blushing and crushing down this red wine. Ice like death. Ice like shivers. Ice like a knife sliding into your back and I’ve yet to betray you, but I’ve thought about it once or twice… I’ve thought about it… but I’m tempted to find happiness even if it isn’t with you. I just wish that it was with you.

And I know that all relationships have their ups and downs, but from here to here…

We need to get away. From this to this.

We want to love like this.

And that kills us all.

—  anon #7
The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.
—  Neil Gaiman
Day 3 of 365.
It’s the same cafe he always goes to. He takes his coffee with milk and two sugars, the way he always does. The scent of lavender is in the air and he sees her walk past, brown eyes and a sunshine smile despite the bitter cold; complete warmth. She takes her coffee black and goes to sit down, cracking open the book she had tucked under her arm. This is someone he needs to know.
Day 15 of 365.
Winter refuses to let up, snow still finding its way into his socks despite his extra clothing. The feeling in his stomach couldn’t be butterflies, it had to be bees. He orders his usual and she walks by and does the same, going to what seems to be her favorite table. He suddenly remembers that he speaks English and has motor skills, and stands. Five feet and seven inches of awkwardness, he walks over to her table and inquires about the book she’s been reading. They talk, with her voice warmer than the way her lips curved with every sentence, and a laugh like wind chimes.
Day 79 of 365.
It’s the first day of Spring. They’ve been talking everyday now, with no signs of stopping. The lavender is a nice break from the cigarette smoke of the city. He asks her out, the lavender mixing with the scent of coffee beans. As peculiar as it would have sounded to him if someone else was detailing it, he loves it. She says yes. This is their new beginning.
Day 86 of 365.
The date is perfect. Her lips are even better. She tastes like cheesecake, her choice of dessert. The next day, he takes his coffee black. It’s new, it’s different, it’s like her.
Day 172 of 365.
It’s the first day of summer. She wears a yellow sundress, appearing even warmer if that’s even possible. They go out for dinner, get dessert and watch the sunset on a park bench, orange and pink leaving no trace of what was once a blue sky. He smiles at her, and leads her by the hand to his car, driving out into the countryside. They get out, lay on the grass and watch as the sunset fades into the night sky, and the stars take over. He pulls her close, and their lips touch. At home, they make love for the first time. She is starlight and lavender, warmth and–
Day 255 of 365.
Autumn starts tomorrow. Things have been a little off lately, but not enough to be worth discussing, so he attributes it to her vacation ending and work starting up again. The next morning, as he has for the past few months, he takes his coffee black.
Day 279 of 365.
It’s halfway through October. The texts are later. The phone calls are shorter. Her voice shifts, from a gentle warmth to a biting cold, a shadow of what it once was. He doesn’t understand, and she knows all too well. He loves her, she doesn’t love him.
Day 286 of 365.
No phone calls. No texts.
Day 293 of 365.
No phone calls. No texts.
Day 300 of 365.
No phone calls. No texts.
Day 301 of 365.
Facebook update. Taken. Not by him.
Day 301 of 365, 15 minutes after.
This has to be a joke, right?
Day 301 of 365, an hour after.
He calls her. He gets the operator.
Day 334 of 365.
He doesn’t take any coffee today. He hasn’t for the past month. He sits at the cafe, waiting to see if she’ll come by. She doesn’t. He walks outside, and the scent of lavender is in the air. Breathing is a duet his lungs and brain no longer know how to sing. He keeps walking.
Day 1 of 365
It’s a new year. Nothing special.
Day 3 of 365.
He wonders if she remembers that they met a year ago today. He remembers it clearly. She posts a picture on Facebook with her new man. He blocks her.
Day 79 of 365.
It’s the first day of Spring. It’s the same cafe he always used to go to. He takes his coffee with milk and two sugars, the way he always did before her. This is his new beginning.
—  Maxwell Diawuoh, New Beginnings (211/366)
We are new
we are freshly born and stumbling
soft and excited and eager
white dappled backs
eyes big as moons
and deep and dark
as the inky sky around it
we are wobbling through forests
our hooves tripping over little stones
buried between patches of moss
then standing up again
quicker and quicker each time
we are growing
and learning
and living
and loving
we are magic
—  A.O.A.M. || New Born Love

It’s funny how we notice
The tiny shifts in the tectonic plates
And not the maddening speed at which we are being tossed across space
Maybe it’s the law of the universe
That we should notice the cracks and imperfections on someone’s porcelain exterior
And not the fact that they’re trying to contain a tornado, that’s tearing them apart on the inside.

Ask me if it still hurts
Ask me how deep it runs
Ask me if barbed wire follows the veins under my skin
Ask me how long it takes to get to the bottom
Ask me if I’ll take the blame for you
Ask me if my knuckles are shattered
Ask me if my wisdom teeth have grown in yet
Ask me if the walls close in
Ask me how to light a cigarette with just a pointed look
Ask me how to heal
Ask me how to plant a seed
Ask me how to let it go
Ask me how to forget about it all

In the end I know that your feelings will soon change, you will meet someone who will make you feel the way you love to. Someone who will see what I haven’t seen in you. Someone who you will think of every second. Someone who will dream of you every night. Someone who will give you the love I can’t offer. Someone who will always be there every single time that you need her. Someone who will love you despite of your imperfections. Someone who will build a future with you and will stare at you—like you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to her. And when that time comes, I know that you will finally understand, why that someone does not happen to be me.
To The Boy Who Deserves Better Than Me
There will be a moment in your life that you would be afraid to love again. Maybe because you got hurt so bad that it broke down all of your walls and hopes that someone will help you and love you the way you want to be loved.  Maybe because you’ve been in a long term relationship that you thought it would last for a lifetime, you put so much effort and time on the relationship, but he proved that forever wasn’t true and depart from your life all of a sudden.
It is normal to feel afraid and to have trust issues after all the things happened in your life. It is normal to stop for a while and reevaluate the things around you. Don’t worry, we all go through this part of the journey. But, don’t close your heart entirely just because someone made it a little more fragile. Because in this life, you will meet someone who will make you feel and understand what real love is. This someone will make you believe that wondrous things could be seen by the naked eyes. This someone will fill your sad songs with joyous lyrics and your gray-scaled world with enormous amount of colors.
You will meet this someone on your darkest night, he will give his light for you to surpass your storm. He will come into your life and make you feel love as if it’s the first time. He will complete the missing part of your journey. And he will be the reason why you will feel things like brand new and exciting again.
—  E.J. Cenita, Get ready, he is coming.