i think not speaking
is the thing messing me up the most
out of all of this

yes, i love you
i really really do
but i know i will get over that
it will take time and it will hurt like hell but i know i will

the thing is, you are my safe place
were my safe place
i felt as though i could go to you about anything
and you made me feel more comfortable than anyone else
you knew how to react and made it easy to talk
now i cant do that
and **** keeps happening
while you're the first person i think to go talk to when i can't
and i keep wondering how you are
you seem fine but i still miss hearing about your life

i miss you and i feel pathetic
because i'm having a hard time adjusting
and i dont exactly know what to do with myself

1) I would die without music. I mean really die. The melancholy moodiness of the melodies and the angsty alluring allusions to love... they get me every time.
2) I love the smell of roses; the idea of a natural perfume is beautiful. The way that it was only ever touched by the fingers of Mother Nature is a foreign concept to our man-made world.
3) I don't believe he emanated sunshine, but more, he released a kind of comfortable sadness that I grew to be quite fond of, the kind of sadness that will keep you company on a rainy Sunday.

it's weird to think of him in past tense,
something that's usually "is" has become "was,"
i am in love with him
should be
i was in love with him
even though, past tense doesn't apply to all my feelings.
i am in love with him
is still
i am in love with him.

i told my therapist about you,
not because you ******* me up
(well, that too)
but because i can't not talk about you,
because i love the way your name tastes on my tongue,
because the words i spin almost conjure you into existence.
she asked why i brought you up,
she asked what your importance was to me and i said
he is my happiness.
she frowned,
slightly shook her head,
and told me that i should not like
the way your name tastes on my tongue.

i don't know what's worse-
the agony of holding on
or the agony of letting go.

i do not know what is more tragic
waiting for you
in this pouring rain
or knowing that
you will never
come