**** you.

the smell before it rains and the taste of that first sip of tea in -20 degrees

the slow untangling of your thoughts with every beat of the drum, the way the wind blows right through you just enough to move you forward and never enough to blow you down

the sound of typing fingers when you know you're onto something good, the feeling of your own, and finally not his, skin

the seasons are changing and baby so are you / six senses are helping you develop into someone new

sometimes we wake up and just dont know how to feel,
*and that's okay

when it's late at night i want you; i crave you
and your beautiful smile and the way you joke
and how when you laugh your whole body moves
with it.

i crave those moments when you're most vulnerable
and sincere, the moments when it's so early in the
morning you can no longer pick out the ugly
thoughts from the pretty ones; the moment
when everything just gets thrown down onto
the screen like a huge pile of confusion and thoughts.

i crave those moments when you look at me for
a split second and seem to care about me more than
just as that person always there for you. the moments
when you look at me and seem to want me too, under
all the confusion and pain.

i crave those moments when you two are away, and
i don't have to be reminded that the moments we have are
mediocre in comparison. completely and utterly mediocre.

i crave those moments when i can go to sleep and enter my
own reality, where i can just forget it all and not have to pretend
any longer about anything.

i crave those moments when your eyes form gentle creases
on the side of your face when you finally are not smiling to
please, but because you are actually happy.

i crave those moments when i write and i am not forced
to cry; those moments when i can write about 1am and
almost 1am and talking to you and being happy, those
moments when i have hopes for the future.

but i also crave those moments when i cannot crave anymore,
because the pain seems to be too much for me to handle

Lately, I've seen poems trending about how no one should fall in love with a poet, nor should they make a poet helplessly fall in love with them. However, something no one has mentioned yet is what occurs too often: stealing from a poet.

When a poet writes a poem, that poem is the perfect combination of metaphors and imagery created by them for you -- a compilation so beautifully intricate that you can get lost by reading merely a few words, overtaken by an empathetic tide that you did not think would come to the corners of your eyes when you sat down and opened your book or tab or paper.

This is the beauty of poems; they express words that many cannot say in any other variation of any way. Ask a poet to describe their emotions and they will beg you for paper and pen, a computer and a keyboard. And these poems eventually combine to become a part of the poet.

The poems a poet writes become a part of themselves.

That being said, it is not okay to take away from a poet what is rightfully theirs. You do not steal from a poet because you are searching for an idea, or because you would like to go trending. Stealing is not poetry. Stealing is not beautiful.

We are a community of people with a love more affable for poetry than for ourselves, and we should all respect all the pieces, because if we do then we are accepting and respecting each other.

So I ask you from the bottom of my heart, do not steal from a poet any longer if you have, or at all if you have not. Your pieces are your own raw emotions, not mine. My pieces are my own raw emotions, not yours.

there aren't any cliches about being broken left for me to spill onto this screen without leaving traces of my blood hidden in each meaning that's been studied over and over and over again

i don't want to think about how little or much you sleep or how much caffeine you drink to wake those tired eyes up because i know caffeine can't help and love can't work to distract a mind so full of distractions already

when it's two am or i'm drunk i think i miss you the most because it's only then i realise how alone i am and how perfectly my head fit on your bare shoulder but maybe the lesson that needs to be learned is that i'm stronger than the pain of missing you and you're lost in the emptiness of not desiring me

i wish i could send telepathic pumps of electric waves fuelled by the thoughts in my brain to your heart so that for a moment you could wake into a coma of happiness but if it were up to me you'd be asleep forever and i'd never want to pull the plug

maybe happiness really only does last in the moments when we least expect them but all i know is that somewhere in-between my hundreds of bruises and your thousands of insecurities i got lost in the cliche of a rose world and i was never read to give that up and i never want to let that go

tell me  you'll stay, even if it's only for another few seconds of this dream

Let me get to know you inside and out; let me get to know your biggest fear and what type of soup you like, tell me more about how you like smoking at two am to clear your head, let me get inside your brain and not just your mouth

Speak to me more than just in body language, tell me stories of your childhood you never dared to repeat, relive the best memories with me in places so void of aging we're convinced we're timeless

Get to know my scars inside and out and let me keep my bandaids for as long as I need, kiss my bruises and tell me that getting up is a process and you'll be trying too, convince me that nails are meant to be broken and laughter is meant to sound hoarse because everything in life is messy and that's the beauty of it

Please, let me know that we're okay - speak louder than their words and look me in the eyes, don't tell me lies coated in beautiful letters, tell me truths so raw it'll burn your tongue and pierce my ears; tell me that we were meant to burn but burning alive never scared you, take my hand and lead me into a forest so dense I won't be able to find my way back and hide the flashlight, let my instincts guide me to you and for the love of god don't let go of my hand when I run back to you

Convince me I'm whole and let me show you you're broken, kiss me goodbye and let me teach you why hello is my favourite word, entangle me in kisses and let me be your oxygen when you're left breathless;

help me believe in 11:11 again

And again it is just one of those nights, where the heart grieves for what the mind cannot fathom.

can’t you hear
that in every ‘goodbye’ we tell ourselves
there lies a screaming ‘please don’t go’?

that feeling in the pit of your stomach as you raise your eyes to look at them, it's lethal

my love is like poison and the second upon exposure i'm left vulnerable but you're left affected forever, one step forward, a single blow to the lips and he has to open his eyes to see her face and remember this is real, she is real

it won't be movie love, it will be real love, and for that you must be warned - do not engage if you don't want after-*** cuddles and life contemplations, hot chocolate runs and holding hands without gloves since the heat from your hands are enough to warm the lack of oxygen reaching mine, late night laughter and cheesy dancing

do not engage if you don't want to let yourself fall in love, because it will happen slowly and if you realise when it's too late that you need to back out you need to know that like a bee who stings and dies, pushing me away from you after i've loved will cause me to be crippled not only by the weight of the falseness that i've been living in, but also the dense, crushing weight of my own love, of the letters and the kisses and the laughter

if you see me contemplate running after you when we say goodbye because i've always had a fear of departure, if you see my eyes light up when you walk into a room with an expression that can only be described as warmth and admiration, if you see my hand slowly make its way to yours in a desire to be held and comforted, if you see me love completely, depressingly, you need to stop me, because i'm warning you that if you don't i will get hurt and the pain of being locked out of my life forever will hurt you more in the months proceeding than it will hurt me as i learn to build myself up again for somebody else

you can fall in love with my lips, my humour, my dresses, my laughter, my smile, the emptiness of my eyes, the constant fear, the happiness when food comes, and anything else and everything else - but please, remember that it's lethal

it's lethal to love and to be loved, but it's the best poison i've ever really known

Perhaps the worst part about making a decision is that you cannot anticipate how you're going to feel the next day.

And perhaps the worst way to feel is to feel remorse, to feel like you are mourning the death of sometbing you could have prevented.

This is an open apology to all of those people that do not know what to do anymore but have problems keep reoccurring in their lives.

This is an open apology to a boy who all I've ever done is hurt, because even though he's hurt me he's been here for me. I cannot say the same.

This is an open apology on behalf of my defence mechanism, I'm sorry my walls keep going up and I always want to end things with a bang. I'm sorry when I'm mad I ignore you. I'm not a perfect human being.

This is an open apology for the tears I have shed for you and in front of you. You shouldn't have to deal with that; no one should. I should've kept to myself and I didn't and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for all the pain and confusion I've caused you. I'm sorry I ****** up. And I'm sorry that I can't control how I feel and I can't turn my heart off. Because it's times like these I really wish I could.

there are moments when i think i want you more than i want hot chocolate on a cold winters day or a nice book to read and warm tea when its raining out. moments i think i want you more than seeing my favourite band live, moments that seem so tangible i could almost grab them out of my mind and form them into something real. there are moments that i feel like i need you or your comfort more than i need the clothes on my back, more than i need the shelter on my head. there are moments when my chest begins to tighten and my lungs begin to close, moments where i think that i can't breath, moments where i wonder how i havent died yet. there are moments when i begin to fill my head with dreams higher in the clouds than the airplane we flew on goes, moments when i feel like i need him more than the soil needs water. there are moments where i realize how lonely i am and how sad i am because of it, moments where i realize that everything i want is too elaborate in my own mind, that the plot line of this fails every time because it is already written in my head and erased in yours.

there are moments where i sway from love to hate, from happiness to tears. but i read somewhere that means that you really love someone; someone who makes you experience that. and i think about that a lot.

the look in your eyes is poetry enough because when I see them I don't see beauty or the galaxy but a lack of sleep and a constant desire

when your hands hold me I feel electrified, I feel like you're an open flame and I'm getting burned with every touch but if that's what burning alive feels like then I am no longer afraid to die

when you whisper in my ear you push away my hair and my neck already moved up, a constant muscle memory forming between your lips and the space rift under my right ear

when you roll your head back and drop the cigarette you make me feel like a queen because ****** nicotine cannot be better than this and your actions show it and I want to be the replacement for nicotine as long as we're together because that **** will **** you and I don't want you to die right now

**** baby I love you, but it's a new kind of love - it's a drop clothes stark naked kind of love, it's an animal love, it's a hand prints on body kind of love, it's a first we strip then we cuddle kind of love, it's a passionate kind of love, it's an I'll act like a child just so I can tease you kind of love, it's a I want to show the world you're mine kind of love,  it's the kind of love that is going to k i l l  m e

There is an inexplicable sadness reserved for
the melancholy moments when we accept that the
one we love does not love us back.

There is an inexplicable feeling we get when
all we are forced to drown in are the pools of
sorry's that are thrown at our ears, mercilessly.

There is an irrevocable pain we feel in the pit
of our stomachs, things we never thought we could
feel, worse than any physical pain, worse than the laps
we have ran around endless fields of thought in
our mind, when we hear the words whispered quietly
and under held breath, uttering
"You deserve better than this."

I do not. I do not want better than this. I deserve you
and everything you have to offer and everything you have
to give.

But resignation to the inevitable is something we all
must learn to do, just as the flowers learn how to bloom
even after the harsh winter storms.

Maybe I will be okay, I just need some time to bloom
into something beautiful once again.

I think I'm finally ready to shed off my old skin

I think I'm ready to remove the bruises from my heart and the scars in my mind from the memories that were tattooed there almost permanently

I think I can finally look at a warm day and smile, because I don't have to see you every day

And I don't have to see any of my mistakes anymore, for they all have gone

I am ready to open my heart and marry the pavement outside my door, kissed by the lips of the sun that didn't shine during our harsh winter

I am ready to dedicate myself to a single airplane and fly far away from here, to divorce old feelings and date new ones

I am ready to stop sulking over any of them, because they do not sulk over me, and I'll be ****** if I let them ruin my summer.

you look me in the eyes and you tell me i don't know what i'm doing but i fire back with a tongue that can lash every single wound you thought was healed open that no, you don't know what you're doing

sure, i may look at you the way the sun stretches across this city and clings onto every ray of grass it can find, and your body imprint in my bed and my memory is perhaps always going to be there, but that does not mean i cannot fall out of love with you

to the boy who will break my heart undoubtedly, know that i will try to break yours first, even though i will ultimately probably fail

know that i will try to kiss every other stranger i can find in attempts to wash out the taste of your perfect lips from mine, know that i will drink to the bottom of every glass they hand me to try to erase the feeling of skin on skin, the feeling of sweat combining and combusting into a deep, fiery love

i won't lie when i tell you that every glass of wine we drank together was an attempt for me to separate myself but you go one step back and i step two steps forward; maybe i will always be the girl that was stuck inside of your head for the early days of december when my looks and my om attracted something in you that not even your relationship status could ignore, maybe something inside of me convinced you that i was different

but, dear boy, know that you - you are not a man, and you still have a long way to go to reach that illustrious status you so badly want to claim

know that when you grab parts of my body i never knew existed, know that when you let me build a home inside of your eyes and your hands, know that when you kiss me innocently or not, that you would never do this if you were a man, because men

well, they wouldn't let me watch them break my own heart

falling in love is easy, it's painless and effortless and it's a huge swoop and before you know it you're on the ground but you're with them and you don't care about anything else in the world except being with them and seeing them

falling out of love is hard, it's painful and takes a load of effort and it's gradual and no matter how hard you try a bit of them always remains in the memory file of your brain, rusting with the lock on it until one day you smell his cologne and that file opens and memories rush back, years later

falling in love with someone who doesn't love you as much as you love them is even harder, it's a hiatus of love and when you're with them you think that it'll be okay and they love you too but when you're away from them you realize they don't need you as much as you need them and maybe they're distancing themselves for their own benefit but you can't afford to bring that up to debate right now because god knows you don't want to lose what you already have

maybe the worst thing of all is waiting for it to end, being in love but knowing that one day you'll have your heart broken once again because the tides of the relationship have changed the current and now it's against you, pushing you away

I would have poured gasoline on myself and asked for your lighter while you lit your cigarette just to prove how much I loved you and it still wouldn’t have phased you as much as the nicotine would // now I laugh while you light your cigarette and when you ask me why I just tell you sunshine burns bright enough just fine without you anyway

let me tell you something about regret

let me tell you something about being saturated with your thoughts, about being completely above your thresh hold of absorption and trying to desperately figure out how you can get out of it

it's a delicate game between i hope he gets it and he never does, a fine line between texting him at 1am trying to apologize for what you've been doing wrong and realizing he's just a boy and he can't handle that

we cling unflinchingly to the memories of our past until eventually we are tunnel visioned by them, unable to move forward because they are the quicksand in our mind forcing us to stay

and let me tell you about trying to do texts at midnight drunk on the absence of sleep telling them that they surely understand, trying to get closure to the fact that no you are not the only one who feels like this, he feels it too, but it will always be about someone else  

and i could give you countless essays on replaying images of their tears, on wishing that you were never in a ******* hotel corridor spilling your heart out to stain your dress with red memories, red red dark red memories that will always stay there

or the time, perhaps, when you were not freezing because he was there next to you to heat you, because the sound that escaped his speakers were melodies that comforted the both of you through the tidal waves of something larger than you and something able to engulf you with a single blow

but let me tell you how it all ends, how you think you can never go back to the feeling of mistakes when you aren't making any, when you're stuck alone in this big world without talking to anyone because it only causes trouble doesn't it? but it always swings back around and there isn't a cure for it

i could write a million and one essays explaining how i have felt the past two years of my life, how from the moment my thighs were frailer than my wrists to the moment i couldn't fit back into my favourite pair of pants, from the time i first saw all of their brown eyes to the time i last saw them, from the awkward moments in the hall that are filled with void and anger and tension to the moments when i would beg to see them again for just a little bit more, but i have realized that i can never make you get it

the only way to get it is to experience it, and for those of you who understand what i'm talking about, try to get some sleep tonight, try to keep the memories out of your dreams

darling, didn't you know I'd turn you into poetry?

I'm sitting alone in a crowded room,
people talking all around, sharing smiles
laughter and joy. Yet all I can think about
is you.

You, you, you, you, you.

You're like a poison that doesn't want to leave my mind,
it contaminates me, one bite and your venom seeps into
my open wounds and makes me suffer
the agony of thought.

Thoughts.

They never end, the what if's never decease,
and every morning I don't want to awake
into another world where I know I shouldn't have
anymore hope.

Hope.

It's lacking in my life, like a balloon flying upwards
toward the sun, your eyes make me change what I think
over and over your words don't seem consistent
with that look.

That look.

That look that tells me you have so much more to say
more to give, more to offer, more to propel,
yet your words speak cowardice, over and over get
out of that little bubble because I've jumped out of mine
because you forced me to pop it and now I'm
a fish without water.

Without water, without hope, without dreams
but I can't stop my dreams and my hope
that my subconscious gives me every night
over and over and over again with you and I
don't know what I dream but that when I wake up
I see your face and when I go to sleep you're the last
thing I think about.

You're the only thing I can think about.
Concentration lost.

You may think I'm crazy,
but I find it one of my only talents to look at something mangled and torn
and to find a sort of beauty in it.

You look at a corpse and say what vulgarity, but I say what peace.
They have finally escaped this game of a thing we call life, and are
free to have a silent mind.

Insanity is darkness's best friend.

You see, when you die you go back into the earth
unless you are preserved in a room full of cold tools designed
to dissect you - cells trying to understand cells:
competition exists even in the most minuscule forms.

There is no beauty to that. There is scarcely beauty in the human race
except in the faces that are forced to smile everyday against their will
and in the hard determination of hearts that want to give up.

I find beauty in the broken ones. I find beauty in the soil covering
back the flesh that it has created in contagion with the stars above
and the universe held together by the small particles that make up
who I am.

Don't tell me that a girl crying herself to sleep is not beautiful,
don't tell me that a boy crying in a hall is not beautiful, do not tell me
that these are ugly people and that bags under their eyes are just another
sign of weakness; because really, the bags under their eyes are large
spheres of purple designed to tell the story of late night thoughts and
struggles -- the bags, the stretch marks, the scars, the tears, the dripping
mascara, the screams, the gasping for air

They are there to remind us of the effects of sadness -- and in that way,
of beauty. Don't you see? They form the masterpiece which some of us
call ourselves. They each tell a story, and when we die, they die too. They
follow us unwillingly to remind ourselves of the past because who are we
without masks and secrets, lies and hateful treacherous thoughts?

We are nothing, that's what.

And that is not beautiful. That is hell.

missing you hits me in waves and right when I think I'm swimming I drown again

let me tell you about poetry

let me tell you about how the sunlight hits his eyes and his pupils dilate just enough for me to see my reflection lost in the pool of a mind full of everything but chlorine

let me tell you about the way his words electrify his touch so at one point i'm convinced i'm being struck by lightning, ready and waiting for the storm to come shortly after

let me tell you about how he likes his coffee black and about how he never seemed to learn the word bad, about how he in the most exposing hours of the night strips down to the bare minimum - his soul, about how he loses his thoughts and reverts back to old questions, about how he keeps practicing the art of deception over and over again just to prove to himself he's still got it

let me tell you about how he wears himself on his sleeve and about how i know that in the gaps between when we feel our heart beats in our throats and through our veins, we will never work out, about how he sees shades of blue but i see shades of pale, about how he's an open book but i was taught books are better kept closed, about how he's becoming my muse but the minute i start writing about them that signifies it's surely the end

let me tell you about mourning before it's begun and about the dark nights spent staying up examining self worth in a queen-sized bed with cigarette butts lining the window sills, about the beautiful agony created and the torturous goodbyes

let me tell you about standing on the edge of a cliff with only two options in front of you and having to ask yourself if it's worth the fall, about how you're so scared of being pushed no matter the promises, but how you know that no matter the spears beneath, his face is all you'd see every single moment your body was falling towards the earth, one step closer to oxygen and closer to death

I don't think I understand the concept of forevers and goodbyes. I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of lasts.

"no strings attached" hurts, but when your only other alternative is goodbye even you can make compromises to ease the pain
- no matter how much you tell yourself he wants to see you, all you're doing is etching the pain away into a ball covered in lies - he will message you when he wants, he will see you when he wants, and when he's busy, he's not thinking about you
- being nice will only get you as far as you let it, because eventually it'll lead you to sit in a chair and listen to the sound of your tears hitting a floor you used to lay down on
- on days when you're particularly down, the sun is truly a friend, because at least the heat helps you realize that you're alive and still breathing
- the only source of happiness comes from within, and moments of "maybe I can live without him" come a lot more frequently when you open yourself up to the beauty of the world around you -  a world previously overshadowed by him
- do all that you do for you and no one else, wear dresses and shorts, **** cellulite and insecurities, love life and love breathing and love your split ends because in the end it's only one life and living it to the fullest is truly what it's all about
- letting go of your fears will make you more wholesome [bugs are still scary, but the peak of tall mountains are there for the view and not the pain]
- never tell yourself something is impossible, because climbing up 10,000 feet seemed terrible to you but you did it and realized there is so much more to this huge world that you've never realized
- reminding your parents everyday you love them isn't something to be ashamed of because in a month you'll be living alone and that means no more of dads sandwiches and moms comforting talks
- don't worry about your appearance - having pimples is okay, dying your hair is okay, having stretch marks is okay... just be yourself and the rest will fall into place
- drama will be drama no matter where you are, but only you can let it get to you
- in the worst of times, calling up your best friend and laughing it off even when it seems impossible is really what will get you through another day

Dear you,

God, falling in love with him was a breeze wasn't it? At first it was a smile and a laugh, but soon it was hands and feet intertwined, and before you knew it you'd fallen harder for him than anyone before

At first the late night thoughts don't scare you - they are premature, eager thoughts about when he's going to call you and where your next day will be, when will he kiss you and does he even like you the same way

It seems like every cloud has a silver lining, but please don't forget about the rain, because it can make the silver melt under the weight of every drop

It'll sting and you have to keep away, wear that raincoat everyday and tell yourself you will make it out okay, grab onto his heart harder than ever before and hope that if you fight for it you will win

But here's the thing: nature is nature

If it's meant to rain, baby don't fight it / go with the flow, follow to ebb and tide to the edge of the world and jump off into a galaxy completely your own, forget about everytime he hurt you with another cancellation, another ignoring session, another ******* comment

Float above the stars in a world that is only built for you, without him and without her and without them, because it'll be the only thing that saves you from the nightmares you're having and the daydreams that are becoming worse and worse through every text

False promises and dark lies are his speciality...let the mysterious ways of the world be yours

Flip your hair, wear your cute dress, and catch another eye, because even if he doesn't notice it anymore, ****** you're still worth all of it

and somehow your words made their way through my tongue and into my heart urging it to beat to only your lips

I kissed his lips at midnight and somehow he convinced me that Sunday mornings were made for bacon and cuddles and Saturday nights shouldn't be spent crying yourself to sleep

I kissed his lips at midnight and I learned what it feels like to have someone who truly wants you in all their timidity, someone who is ready to lift your chin up and grab your face and lean in despite height differences

I kissed his lips at midnight and I realised that sometimes the best decisions are made spontaneously, out of the blue in the middle of the street with hands intertwined as if we knew each other for ages when really it was two hours

I kissed his lips at midnight and my heart was left in his hands, because those kisses continued until Sunday at four thirty pm and since then he's all I can think about

At the beginning of every relationship and every new love or old love renewed, it's hard to accept that you'll never be their reality. It's hard to accept that life isn't like the movies and that the pretty girl can't get what she wants this time because she has love to compete with. It's hard to accept that sometimes memories rush through your head at the speed of water rushing down niagra falls but you have to learn how to either accept it or not give a **** about it anymore because those people aren't going to pick up the broken pieces of your own puzzle and put you back together again. They'll look at the picture on the box and decide that the pieces are already assembled, without opening the box itself. That's just the way it is.

My worth is not measured by my standardized test score number. My worth is not measured by the amount of AP classes I am taking. My worth is not measured by my GPA. My intelligence cannot be measured by how many pages of a review book I can do and get a 36 on the ACT, a 5 on the AP exam, an A in the class.

I am so much more than these numbers. I am so much more than a transcript.

this is not a conventional poem, but it isn't meant for anyone's approval anyways.

this poem is what i'd like to call a soliloquy for one, one describing someone that means a lot to me.

first off, i would like to say that it's 11 and whatever i write from here on out will probably sound like gibberish. second off, this will probably be ****** compared to a five page essay of positive attributes she sees in me that i dont see in myself, but here goes nothing.

honestly, i dont know where to start. i'm terrible with words; terrible with writing how i feel when asked to do it directly. i have pushed back this task for a long time now because of exams, but the time has come and i can't think of any other time to do this. if you're reading this (yeah, you know who you are) sorry that i couldn't say this directly. a surprise is always nice

well, she's the sweetest person you'll ever meet. i don't mean sweet like symphony music on a summer's day; i mean sweet like bulgarian watermelons or cocoa, skim milk, and hazelnuts combined in a jar of nutella. i mean sweet like always has your back, always is there to smile with you and sometimes for you when you need it most.

she also reminds me of the sun. i know in her eyes she'll tell you, and tell you honestly from her own opinion, she reminds herself of the clouds that form on top of a town before it rains. she'll tell you she reminds you of someone who's broken. i'm not here to preach her being put into pieces again, because trust me she is broken. but, she's the beautiful kind of broken. she's that mirror that breaks, whose shards reflect in the sun and make a rainbow. she is the sun, shining every single day, if not to anyone else she is to me. her smile, her genuine smile and her "**** finger legs" are enough to make even the grouchiest man let out a relentless chuckle.

inevitable beauty comes from the sun. so it only makes sense that she's beautiful. i already mentioned her smile, but then there's her personality, her stamina, her charisma, her diligence, her kindness, everything. it's a package of perfect atoms combined to form the perfectly imperfect human. she is always there for me; i dont think theres a time she wasnt. and she will always be there for me, and i dont even need reassurance on that. and that's beautiful -- it's a beautiful thing. she's beautiful with all the scars on her heart and her sarcastic and sassy humor when she's done with the world; she's beautiful with her empty eyes and her lack of sleep. just absolutely beautiful.

memories? oh god. where do i start. well, one time we walked outside and it started pouring rain. the weather gods normally hate us, but that day it was buckets of water thrown at these two in particular girls kind of hate. we've talked to six hours downstairs multiple times, gotten weird looks, smiled with a face full of lies a lot. a lot of people think we're sisters, and what i don't tell her is that i'm honored that people would ever think that. if you ask me, i feel unworthy. there were also the walks we had during the winter, that were completely therapeutic. it was snowing outside and we would casually walk out there braving the flakes that were warmer than what we felt. and when it was too cold outside, we would walk laps in the garage. really, it's like we were unstoppable. she waits for me every single day (who would do that; waste their time just to accompany a friend home?) she's listened to every single time ive complained about something -- and for that i can't ever repay her. she's one of the very few who havent left me, one of the only people that has picked me back up. and she is the only person that has kept me up after that.

when im with her and i cry when she does, i cry because she does. i cry because i cannot imagine someone could make her feel that way; cant imagine someone would ever contemplate making her feel that way (*******.) she is so incredibly creative, the metaphors she writes are so strong i feel them pop out of the page and grab my chest to pull me inward more emotionally. my heart beats the rhythm her stories flow. her words are so well chosen with her eyes looking up in her imagination and not the screen that sometimes i wonder how a human can come up with a summary of the human condition in three pages. and she's empathetic -- she does not just get it...she gets it. she understands everything i go through, and i likewise her.

sister. do you just let go of your sister? do people just let their sisters stop being their sisters after a while? no. and i will never do that either. why? because she means more than the world to me. she means the galaxy, city lights, memories of songs, memories of garages and rain and nutella and records and knowing its over and latching on to people and 19th nervous breakdowns. she is literally a part of me; a part i cant let go. and i will never let her go.

never seems like an awfully long time -- it seems like forever. forever seems scary but not for me and not for this. i will forever cherish you. i don't even know if you're reading this and i'm near you or not, but that doesnt matter to me. i just wanted you to know, no matter when in the day you do.

i love you, girl. more than so many things in my life. i wont let you fade into the background of my mind or memories. i wont let you gather dust and draw pictures in the dirt in the back of my mind. you're front and center, chief of staff of my sanity, and i wont do that.

thanks for putting up with my ****.

love, sos

emotions are running through my veins so much I'm convinced my blood has turned into a tide of tears love and heartbreak

Timid bodies under blankets too white to be considered innocent

The way the salt from my freshly formed tears touch your lips and you engulf the last of my cells as if metamorphosis were at work

As your fingers trace the bits of my spine that have broken with each time I've fallen on the floor in the blood of a shattered heart, I can't help cringing because how can I not have trust issues from fingers so familiar to the countless ones before, ones that somehow used their intricate DNA to open my chest and leave it bleeding

I wish a drag of nicotine could replace how addicted I am to the way you whisper into my ear, constantly searching for affirmation because controlling yourself isn't your strong suit, but no amount of inhaling is going to teach my lungs to live without the oxygen I get from each kiss

This is temporary love, the kind of love that leaves you breathless for hours on end day by day until eventually you forget how to breathe, the kind of love that they never warn you about because soulmates must exist and they must come together far better than two people under the influence of red wine can, the kind of love where you wake up in the morning and you get struck by eyes so beautifully caring you can tell you won't last much longer

This is temporary love, but you won't stop

This is temporary love but you know it's addicting because leaving your lips stamped on another one is enough to ensure long after you're gone your love can somehow carry on