Every so often, you get your heart broken. It's a punch to the stomach, a kick to the knees, a stab in the chest.

Sometimes, you meet this person again. Of course you long to be able to look into their eyes and melt into them like you always have. To lie in their arms would be a heaven almost unimaginable because of the current circumstances, yet you desire it. But has anyone considered the actual feeling of stealing small, secretive, loving, glances at them?

It's looking through a sea of asphyxiation - obviously you are deprived of oxygen underwater - and not being able to reach for them. You are the lone diver, and they are the sinking rocks headed for the ocean's abyss. It's disconcerting, painful and uncomfortable.

You're crying. Why are you crying? Oh. It hurts. Obvious. You are shaking so much you thought you would die young. You have your whole funeral planned in your head. Organs play in the background to honor your demise. The tears flow from your face, leaving hot, burning trails as they did, but the pain of it cannot compare to the one in the pit of your stomach. You wonder when the pain will stop. Wondering alone does not help it.

What you would give to stare into their ocean eyes, play with their hair, crush your lips into theirs.

If only falling out of love were as easy as falling into it.

(seastarred)

She's the song you don't want to end
She's the book you're afraid to finish
She's the fantasy you make in your head,
Of what she is and what she isn't.
And she's all that and more.
To me.

Let's master the pipeline
Billabong brands my chest
Let me ride my dreams
On my board and your *******.
No plans past tomorrow
Gonna live loud today
Put on that wet suit
And let's make love to the waves.

i write all day like an adult,
i am learned and i use big words
and i know how to accurately craft
a metaphor about pain and harm.

but at the end of the day
i return to childlike phrases,
“it’s not fair,” and i feel more
of a release from that than
a composition notebook
filled from cover to cover
with a million different ways
of saying that i still,
despite everything,
am not happy.

scientists say that a fingerprint develops when a baby is only 12 to 19 weeks along and that it is impossible for two people to develop the same print and although i believe in science i am still hoping there is a chance that someone in the world might have the same etches on the tip of his fingers as you did because to find the same hair colour and the same eye colour and the same smile is almost too easy but your touch against my skin made even the brightest of fireworks envious and darling something like that is irreplaceable