Him

His smile warms me, as I melt into his embrace...
Leaning into him, my head on his chest,
Drifting to the lull of his heartbeat as he caresses my hand...
His head on mine... Jumbling my thoughts...
He plays lacrosse, his chestnut hair ever so soft...

Unfinished but here's what I got so far...

I run from things when they move too fast,
Because my last relationship left nothing but cracks.
But you promise to stay and I promise to love you,
Even if I know that none of what we say is true.
Because human beings promise forever, not even stopping to think if they'll be around for that long.
So when my blue boy promised a lifetime,
I thought it would be okay to sing him my lovely midnight song.
But when he left after leaving marks under my skin,
I knew not to fall in love again.
I am claustrophobic,
I have severe philophobia,
But I'll say things like I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours,
And then I'll leave again,
Because I'm not made to love anyone like you, I must confess.
My feet move fast,
But you'll see how fast they can go when I'm running from the things and the people I called my home.

Fear of Love Phobia – Philophobia. The fear of love (or falling in love) phobia is known as Philophobia.

I wish that I died with you when I had the chance,
So I don't have to die alone again.
Because in my dreams we drown together,
But in reality we're nothing more than friends.
But how can you be Just Friends,
With someone you're in love with?
How can you smile and laugh with them,
When on that very bed you've felt their skin?
In hushed kisses and promises,
Forever was in every gasp,
But when you introduce me as your best friend,
No one really thinks that.
"I'm over her."
"It wasn't even real."
"We're just kids."
Are the lies I spit and spit,
While going home to brush my teeth so no one can smell you on my breath again.
Inside and out,
I've fallen for you,
But when we roam about,
No one knows our little truth.
I wish that before this ended,
We drowned in one more kiss.
I wish that before we truly ended,
I felt a little more of that Perfect Deadly Bliss.

Clara 10h

It just hits him sometimes. He was fine one minute, and then all at once, his mind would begin rearranging itself, like jigsaw pieces forcefully fitting together to form a puzzle he was never able to make sense out of.

His thoughts were doses of potent psychedelics, and when he would share them with you, he would lure you in and meticulously detach you from reality.

His voice was monotone, but listening to him speak made you feel like you were floating. Every syllable, every word, lessened the earth’s gravitational pull, every sentence lifted you further off the ground.

Sometimes I would look into his eyes and see nothing but dread, and sometimes I wanted to reach into the depths of his being and drag his demons out, but they had already built a home inside of him.

When his tragedies would bleed through his body, he would collect the blood in jars and use the red to paint self-portraits, and when he would burst with anger, he would rattle the core of the earth, and everything around you trembled.

I tried to love the pain out of him, but to no avail, because it seemed like the pain had become him, and if I were to love the pain out of him, then I would love his soul away.

shiv 9h

Your mouth is a gun
And each I LOVE YOU
Is a bullet, reminding me
That im alive.

There is always someone out there
Who is better than me
Someone more amazing & wonderful
I always think about it
Knowing that
There will always be someone
Who is better than me
Whenever I do this or that
Wherever I am in the world
I know for a fact
That there will always be someone
Who is better than me
Sad as it is
I can only hope to strive
To fight for what I believe in
Even though it's hard
Sometimes when I reach the top
When I've honed my talents
There will always be someone
Who'll best me
In this case, it's love
My feelings running deep
Every part of me calling her
All that I am for her
All I did, for her
Then there's him
He's the one she chose
We were never meant to be
He is the someone
Who is better than me

I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
I hate it
haley 4d

you destroyed me.
like hydrochloric acid,
you were corrosive
and colorless.
burning everything you touched,
including me.
first degree burns on my heart.
second degree burns on my mind.
third degree burns on my life.

Your absence
laps
at my shore
like a
f o r g e t f u l tide;
some days
it stays
                                   out,
letting me
breathe,
letting me
be-
other days,
it makes up for this,
swamping me
in a
tsunami,
and all I
can do
is
keep my
eyes
trained on land.

You are the moon.
Please return soon.

What's the proper etiquette for falling in love?
Is it hushing lips and tripping over lungs?
Is it squinting eyes and falling falling falling in mud?
Because here we go down and down again,
But everyone's doing it, My Lovely Flowery Friend.
If I dive in between your legs,
And find other bodies there,
Does that mean I should run in toxic fear?
Are we supposed to dry out from licking up all these tears?
If I fall into your arms,
While they were open for someone else,
Does that mean we're in love?
Are we supposed to spit on the floor and call it cum?
You said you've done this before,
You said it would be fun,
But when you've got me trying to wring my head dry,
Of all my pretty girl lies,
I become less and less sure if this is love.
Tell me, please tell me,
Is this proper etiquette?
Should I be building mountains out of my bones so you can touch the moon?
Should I constantly carry around these pillows in case someone else makes you swoon?
I don't know what I'm doing,
But you say you do,
So I guess I'll bury my heart so it doesn't get broken by you you you.

A 4d
Him

The first time she sees him, she's twelve.

Her hands were twiddling with dials,
Her hair was tied in a messy bun,
Her clothing rumpled and stained with grease.

He walks over, his hands in his pockets,
and asks,
"What are you making?"

She doesn't answer,
Absorbed in the machinery,
But when her shoulder is tapped, she jumps,
and wonders who he is.

"It seems like such a hard thing to do,"
He remarks, standing over her,
Staring into the depths of the old radio.

The second time she sees him, she's fifteen.

She had changed over the three years,
Her hands no longer mess with dials,
and her clothes are clean and unwrinkled.

He's standing in the middle of the hallway,
Staring numbly at the floor as
Bullies push and taunt him.
Not once does she see him flinch at a hit or an insult.

The boys around him eventually move away,
Shouting one last mockery over their shoulders
Before they vanish.

She approaches  
but is pushed away.
She doesn't try to talk to him again.

The third time she sees him, she's twenty.

The years have worn upon her,
And she's taller now,
More mature.
Her hands provide comfort to the injured and dying.

Her professors praise her calm hands and demeanor,
And they give her a project,
A partner project,
With him.

They work throughout the days and nights,
Becoming friends.
But when college ends, they split.

She gets into a fight with him,
And screams insults at him.
He walks away,
And doesn't come back.

The fourth and final time she sees him, she's twenty-seven.

She works as a paramedic, saving people,
And she's given an assignment to a burning house.
When she arrives,
She finds the house aflame and a man who needs help.

She tends to his various wounds,
And when they arrive at the hospital,
He's whisked away.

She grows closer to him, the man she saved,
And they date.

Then she realizes she fell in love with him.

Based on my experiences with crushes and people who come in and out of my life.
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