you don’t seem to miss me, so I shouldn’t miss you, right?

Perhaps, all I mean to say is that I adore you. Because, in a way, I think I can be senseless with you and still make sense. Because you’re devastatingly real.
― Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)
Please. I am trying to love but
I’m not sure how to. It feels like
untying a bandage that has been
cutting off blood circulation.
It feels like learning
sign language,
the first time
you bit into a lemon thinking
it an orange, a new taste
on the tongue. Please.
I am trying not to leave creases
in everything I touch, trying
not to shatter the rain.
I am trying to exist like
a slow-dance,
seeking to rein quaint myself
with forgiveness. With passion.
I want to love like a mural
with so many colours you don’t
know where to look first.
I want the brush strokes to
be thick and brutal.
God knows I’m trying.
Please. Be patient with me.
I am making up for lost time,
I am learning to unclench
from a tight fist into an
open palm
before it is too late.
jessica therese, “Please” (via contramonte)
I either lose sleep for you or because of you.
― Kayla Hollatz (thetalltwig), Slumber - a 10 word poem (via jena-tran)
I decided on you, don’t you get that? I decided on you. I don’t want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad or empty. I like the smell of your hair, I like the sound of your voice, and I fucking decided on you

girls, HBO (via a-seedy-old-man)

but really too late, i get that. 

(via iwantcakebiatch)