Type. Delete.
Type. Delete.

It’s been two hours. Why can’t I say hi?

Oh, it’s cause I said I wouldn’t.

Read More

ryanelevate:

The chains rusted and my demons were unshackled at dusk. But, they crawl back by dawn. They never see the light of day.

She’s right. All I need to be is me, completely and throughout. Im a spitting image of my hot-tempered yet equally affectionate father with the soul of the ice-cold resilience and quiet confidence that my mother bestowed upon me. And the trenches in between are filled with my own.

I’m a perfectionist; my blood boils when something goes wrong and I am the perpetrator - even if only a single strand of my hair is found at the crime scene. Why? Cause I care so much about the people I love and I take it upon myself to carry as I much of the burden as I can on my shoulders. My expressions are often blank and my words muted, and while some see that as indifference or not giving a shit, I’m actually blinded by conviction and consumed by a quiet desperation to fix what’s broken. And eventually, it becomes my own. I choose to be a leader of a sort, but in the process, I neglect my own cracks, scarring my suit of armor. And if my frail heart ever gets exposed, I react defensively. Regurgitating intense, unadulterated emotions and senseless words and aimlessly finding ways to numb my wretched pride… But all this is transient, just a few fleeting moments of chaos. I’m too determined to quit. So, I pick up the pieces and move forward.

I’m impressed, though. You’re the first to even verbalize that about me. It may be a little dramatic and its maddening or borderline insanity, i know, and its a part of me that even my parents, whose blood runs through every part of me, don’t understand. But know this:

I will move mountains if you just tell me.
I will keep the fire burning if you just show me.
And I will never give up if you just believe in me.

All I can think about is the day you return

and the time we have left

before

you leave

again.

Its so odd

how we can find ourselves

to hate the very being

of

someone we used to

find interest in

I don’t want to be 
your entire world, no.
I would be happy
just to be your morning coffee,
your hanging car keys,
your wallet.

Something seemingly
insignificant,
but if lost throws off
your entire day.

(via stayuntilthewindchanges)

If had to choose to live with all the problems I’ve caused and the pain I’ve inflicted or to die and relieve the victims of their suffering, I’d die.

One way or another, I wouldn’t be able to live with this feeling of guilt and hopelessness, knowing I can’t make amends with the people I’ve hurt.

I’ve never felt so defeated in my life. But I guess that’s what I get for being so careless.

No one stays forever.

The thought of you being happy with someone else is what kills me the most.

I don’t know what to do with you.

Too much to handle. It’s like trying to handle the entire ocean in the cup of my hands, you are a handful and more.

But I care too much to just let it go. Or do I.

Do I dare love again?

I bear a heart so cold that my heart beats snow storms. I fake emotions everyday to make myself feel alive but really I’m dead inside carrying all the sins I’ve committed and countless people I made cry. My heart never races only slow paces. Blood never rushing because I never get nervous. Impenetrable skin impervious to emotions.

I feel nothing therefore I am nothing.

Or am I afraid because you seem to be the only one able to strike emotion in my life. Jealousy, love, lust, anger, frustration. Make my heart beat, make my heart race, make me chase, make me want something that has caused me so much pain in the past but everything seems so worth it in the moment.

I feel trapped. No. I don’t feel at all.

erudess:

If I had to choose

between counting

the stars in the sky

as they are

without all

these city lights and

sounds that remind

us of our place

in nature,

and counting

each mole and scar

and beauty mark

that maps the

canvas of your

body

with bare fingers

and curious lips,

I’d choose you

again

and

again.

It is remarkable how similar the pattern of love is to the pattern of insanity.