i wear my heart on my sleeve. hidden behind that is a knife for anyone who comes too close with bad intentions

let me show you how right i am for you

how do i write you a love letter if words are not enough to describe you

and if i wrote you a book full of love letters, would you read it?

maybe in another dimension you’re in love with me too

at least one version of me would be happy

either i get you to heaven or you drag me to hell

even if i try to ignore it, you are the love of my life

imagine what it takes that i go from loving someone so deeply to never wanting to talk to that person again

onlinecounsellingcollege:

“Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex; but eventually it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hand inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past - the memories - and make peace with them.”

— Iyanla Yanzant

„Somebody asked me if I knew you. A million memories flash through my mind, but I just smiled and said I used to.”

I want you to know that You were very important for me. You were my missing piece, my soulmate. I really loved everything about You. I am glad that you destroyed that.

Everytime I look at brown eyes I see yours. But not You.

If I were Icarus, and you were the sun,

My wings would stretch against time to touch you.

My skin would crack and wither;

Your warmth like the pressure of gravity.

My face droops and falls; I am so close to your awesomeness,

I can feel it creeping into my viens.

Your fingers reach out to give drink to my parched tongue,

And I shatter; I burst.

How wonderful you must be, for me to rip out your heart, and for you to say “thank you, I needed that.”

I know this much is true…it’s not supposed to be like this. A new relationship is supposed to make you feel good. Excited. Happy.

I feel so fucking ridiculous. Because here I find myself crying over him yet again. I feel so hurt and so angry at him. Like why can’t you see how much I care for you, how much I want to spend time with you? Do you even care about me? Would you care if I disappeared?

I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that this isn’t going to work. I physically want to fall apart. Over the last two months my entire life has revolved around spending time with him. The pure ecstasy I felt from knowing I’d get to see him. The number of times I’d push away the sadness and the…loneliness that would still permeate my life, even as I lay next to him.

Put plainly, I want someone who’s going to reciprocate the love I have to share. I’ve explained to him twice before that what he does is not enough. Each time he seems to understand, and yet I find myself back here. Inconsolable. Alone. Tired. And now my heart is breaking.

I’ve never gone through something like this before. I’d see it on TV or read about it in books and I never understood. So many women seemingly losing themselves because of some guy. I was so dismissive. So fucking judgmental. I never knew what heartache could feel like. And now I am here and I am in it. It’s the worst fucking feeling ever.

I don’t know how to be with him in a way that doesn’t make me cry.

So often his mind is elsewhere. But it’s in the intimate moments that it really starts to get to me. When we’re laying in bed and I make a point of snuggling up to him - for the most part, it’s like he’s gone. I know he’s dealing with stuff. A lot of it. And he’s told me that his mind is always just wandering - that it’s something he can’t stop. But in those moments, I need that intimacy. I need to look over at him and see him looking back, I need something in his eyes to to tell me that he’s in this with me. I’m only now able to admit that it hurts me a lot. It feels like he doesn’t want me there, like he doesn’t even care.

What am I even doing here? So often he says things that in and of themselves make me want to cry. His view on the future is bleak. Again, there are extenuating circumstances that I won’t go into detail here. But he speaks like someone dealing with depression, or someone who has lost their way. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to be in a relationship with someone like that? I ask him what he wants for the future. He says to retire as early as he can, do art, and play video games. How do I fit into that? He worries relentlessly about money. I get it, I’ve been there. I tell him to be positive - he says there’s a thin line between optimism and delusion. He spends the bare minimum on food or clothing. Frugal to an extreme. I cannot live like that. My health literally would fall apart. So how would this ever fucking work?

And yet, I never want to be away from him. Even if I know I’m not getting everything my heart wants from being with him, I pine for him continuously.

Honestly, this is some real masochistic shit I’ve got going on here. And it’s exhausting.

And then you’ll find me, in my bathroom, spending at least 40 minutes in the shower, washing away the feeling of his hands that still remain on my skin, or in my room, in front of my dressing table, staring at my reflection wondering what it is that makes people vacate their way out of my life, wondering what is so bad about me that no one seems to stick around. You could find me in the middle of my room, lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling, listening to one of my many vinyl records. Or you could find me sitting on my window ledge, smoking the cigarettes that he used to, reminiscing on the taste of his lips that once filled my senses, or writing him into another hundred pages of my endless journals.

You will start to wonder when you will eventually forget about him. It may be ten weeks or ten years from now. But you will hold out for the day. You will try to think about all the negativities about his personality, in hope that it will make it that little bit easier to let him go. Like the fact that he smoked like a fish, or maybe it was his inability to complete a sentence without swearing. Or maybe it was his trust issues or his emotional instability. The list will go on and on. But you will soon realise that you grew to love all these aspects of his personality. The way he looked with a cigarette perched between his teeth. Or the way ‘fuck’ sounded when it rolled off his tongue.

Some things you can’t go back to, because you let them slip away.

I still think about him sometimes. Not in the “oh, I miss him” way of thinking, but more wondering what my life would be like if I didn’t get that flight to Washington, had I not left him in New York. If I didn’t get in that taxi, if I didn’t run out on him in the middle of the night.

Here I am, sat in an apartment, with my boyfriend, with our dog, getting our ducks in a row to buy our first home, and my mind shifts to him. I don’t miss him, I don’t care about him anymore, I’m no longer crippled by the loss, but sometimes I do think about him. Because when I met him, there was a version of myself I found, and then I lost just as quickly. And maybe I miss her more than I’ll ever miss him.

- Ever since New York