(n.)
a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that has been loved and then lost


January //
Your smile makes flowers grow in my lungs and I'm too busy taking care of the garden, pulling the weeds out for the flowers to live and bloom, I forget I need to breathe too


February //
They say addiction is a habit; kisses are drugs but your lips are rehabilitation and I keep coming back for more sessions because I need it; you're my "personal brand of ******"


March //
I write symphonies about the way a single touch from you defines the revolution of the Earth but I was wrong; it actually defines the whole galaxy


April //
My eyes are the same hue of empty, vacant, while the ocean is trapped in your eyes; there are more than meet those chocolate orbs, so let me explore every depth of the waters with you


May //
Your voice is the sound of the soft pitter-patter of the falling rain on the window pane after a storm, and the clouds don't hide the sun anymore


June //
I love the smell of books and coffee, especially with extra teaspoons of sugar and a story about looking for a place to call home as I long for the scent of belonging I only get from having you wrapped in my arms


July //
I fell in love with the way every novel I read has pages with traces of your footprints, your mark imprinted in my heart like how one is drawn to TFIOS; heartbreaking and tear-filled but it was true and the love is real, sort of like you and I; I like to think of it like that — you are Hazel and I am Augustus


August //
I don't believe in full-stops, I don't believe there could be an end to this love we have like how there is an end to a sentence; you might not have noticed that there is not a single full-stop here because our story is not ending, I'm not saying goodbye yet, and Augustus has not died yet; please do not leave me