I think, at our cores, no matter how jaded and cynical and bitter and burned we might claim to be — we’re optimists. We like to believe in love and happily ever after, and we like to believe that something is out there waiting for us. And so that is why we hold onto the could have beens, and all of the futures we painted in our heads but were never brave enough to admit. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that maybe, deep down, the way to get what we wanted was just to have The Talk with the other person before the cut-and-run. And that’s on us, and will ever be.

When you’re given cute words and quiet moments together, it’s very easy to see that inch and take a mile, but unless you follow through and ask for what you want to receive, you can’t blame anyone else when you’re not given it. But at the very least, if we are all constantly floundering through these almost-relationships together — because after all, it seems like everyone these days has an almost in their history — we can collectively learn, and be a little braver, and say what we want next time. Because after all, we’re optimists. We have to believe in love to survive. There will always be a next time, if only we can lick our wounds and find the courage within ourselves to try again.

you push down on me
you emit your pressure on me
It pushes me down yet i love it
because its yours
you don't even know your effects on me
the pain to know you'll never feel the same
but the pressure wont let me leave
it forces me to look at your life go by
without me being part of it
this pressure i have grown accustomed to
it has become my friend now
and as you lose your grip on this pressure
i retain mine

John Cena, my lord
My Legs are superior
Sorry not sorry

The unmistakable sound of metal carving through ice,
Armored gladiators move swiftly
Wielding wooden weapons with curved blades
As they chase a hard black disc.
Bodies slam into the boards,
The boisterous crowd masks the sounds of cracking bones.
One team scores, then the other.
The crowd cheers, and then they boo.
Two competitors exchange words,
Then fists.

Seconds tick off the clock,
Before they know it the game draws to a close.
Sweat drips from every pore,
Steam rises from the warriors' helmets.
The game has not yet been decided,
So extra time is needed.
The purest form of competition,
The first to score wins.
A skater breaks away from the defense.
He shoots, he scores, he goes home and waits for the chance to play again.

As I slip into a deep sleep,
Memories of him creep into me.
I shake in my bed grabbing at the place he used to lay.
I want to open my eyes to look for him,
But I know the outcome,
I do not want to see.
I miss the way I would fall asleep to the sound of his heavy breathing;
I miss when I could turn over at 2am and kiss his neck and his back.
He is gone,
I am here alone, walking the paths meant for two.
Every smile I see I think of you.
As I sit in the cafe he had shown me months before,
A single tear rolls down my dry skin.
His mind is now a fairground ride-I wonder if he thinks of me.
I grab the sweater he gave to me,
And slip back into a state of euphoria.
I miss him.

Love is pure, love is great
But how it is when one have failed
Yes, they said it's bitter-sweet
But why I feel a sugar guilt.

Now I know what I feel,
It is true that love is here
But when he knew what I did there
He chose to left without a tell.

It's funny.
How your bed can be your best friend or your worst enemy
How it contains your worst nightmares and most splendid dreams
And how awful it is.
That people don't know how you feel
when you wake up and you still think the demons are real

Morning after morning I'm in fear when I wake
Trying to calm down fearing what it will take
and when I look back on what i did while I slept
I shake.

Because I cannot trust myself
While I am asleep.

It's simple, we're all just sinners.

And I, as the worst of all, laugh at the idea there might be no heaven...