“How dare you
fall in love
with someone so human?
Frail and mortal,
skin and bones
are no match for the world.
is no more than a man
no matter what love he created.”—Michelle K., I Am So Sorry He Left.
“Until we have met the monsters in ourselves, we keep trying to slay them in the outer world. And we find that we cannot. For all darkness in the world stems from darkness in the heart. And it is there that we must do our work.”—Williamson, Marianne. Everyday Grace: Having Hope, Finding Forgiveness And Making Miracles. (via moaka)
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”—Anais Nin (via cabaretfurs)
He will take you by surprise,
and you won’t notice the first steps
that turn to falling.
When you make room for him,
be careful what you throw away.
When he stomps around your heart
like he owns the place,
remember who was there first.
When someone asks you how I’m doing you say that we haven’t spoken in over 4 months now.
They’ll expect you to remember how to spell my name, but when they ask, you spell it wrong for the first time in a while. I don’t have a middle name or my mothers last name but you’ve forgotten that too. You know my birthday is in August but you don’t remember the day.
On Tuesdays, you’re walking home and you see a shade of blue that you think I’d enjoy, or maybe it’s green. I never liked either, you should know that, I always went for turquoise instead. The perfect combination of both.
You keep forgetting that I never liked flowers or the color red.
I see you at the beach for the first time in over a year, my shoes in my hand, my toes painted turquoise of course, you look at me strange, on disapproval, you know I hate shoes or you should.
Your mother loves reading and so do I, we got along so well but you forget that you ever took me home in the first place, how could you?
You’ve forgotten that I bite my nails when I have something to fear and that I cry more often than I should.
You’re forgetting the color of my hair, the color of my eyes and the way my hands always fit into yours.
You don’t even remember what my laughter sounds like , or that it filled your lungs with something.
You’re starting to forget me and it’s okay, it is time to anyways.
But please remember that I loved you better than I ever loved anyone else. That is perhaps the only thing worth remembering for.