When your breaths grow shorter
I’ll tear a hole in your throat
When you grow tired of my voice
I’ll cut your ears and sew you new ones
When your bright eyes run blurry with tears
I’ll take fire to your face until you can see clearly again
I’ll always be here for you
And you’ll always be here for me

I can’t tell you why I’m writing this.
I can tell you that it feels right.
I’m listening to your record to get a feel for you and I’m lighting coffee scented candles to help me miss you more clearly. I’m scared to write.
I miss you so much sometimes.
Even when you’re right next to me.
It’s annoying.
I always doubt myself around you.
I think you think I call you pretty too much.
You are so ******* pretty.
I feel distant, but then you look up at me and I’m reminded that I am an idiot for missing someone so near to me.
Then I think of how ******* lucky I am.
And how perfect you are.
And I go home and light candles and write of how I wish I had the guts to say “I love you.”
And how I wish I had the guts to believe that you would say it back.
You can call me a coward for putting it in writing, but it’s still true.
I love you.

kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of falling in love.

I'm not a fan of people who fail to see past the smoke they exhale.
I don't enjoy the constant "I don't care" mindset, and I don't think it helps.
I don't care if you ruin yourself. I don't care about your health
but the second you hurt the ones I love I swear to god I won't hold back.
Do you know there is more to life? Do you know that you can have both?
You can be here for a good time AND a long time. It's not impossible.
You can’t just brush things off like it’s nothing at all.
And there is more to life than ***, drugs, and alcohol.
You talk of how perfect it is and write of how awful it is
I hope you get better.
I hope you change again.
I hope you start to see that there is always more to life.

You fit so perfectly in my arms. Holding the world together was never so enjoyable. And your coffee colored eyes look so beautiful when you stare back at me. I try to count your freckles, but I get too easily distracted by the millions of other things that make you so ******* stunning. The collision of your kiss leaves me so breathlessly happy, and I look dumb as **** after. I think of you during storms. I think of you all the time. And I can't think of a better way to daydream without you waltzing into my mind. You are my blissful summer nights. You are my adorable best friend. You are my coffee shop daydreams. You are my everything.

Would you still write about me if I didn't read them?
Or do you write highly of me out of fear