Why am I still awake
People figuratively talk about their walls they put up.
If we had to talk about mine, I’d say that they’re never stopped being built.
About 100 stories high, half a mile in length, meaning if laid down flat, I wouldn’t even jog the distance. Completely solid, no occupiable floors, only filled with one occupant, who is myself. It’s been up so long that the unbearable want for someone else has started growing like vines up a wire fence, covering it up like its a form of nature but underneath is a cold, stone wall. The air is so still the very breath of another will stir currents within that will feel like a spring breeze brushing against your cheek. Theres no sunlight that reaches me because the only light is artificial because I’m afraid the sun’s kiss will have me longing for it when it becomes night time, waiting for its return from dusk to dawn.
I’m so intertwined with this emotional fortress that any hope for something real has me picking bricks off one by one just to make it easier for her to climb over.
One by one.
Story by story.
Until I’m left with nothing. Completely vulnerable to the open air, to the sunlight, to the wind
and to you.
So promise me that as I pluck these bricks one by one, that if one day you decide otherwise, you let me know before I’m left with nothing.
So atleast I can start building it back up again before anyone else has a chance.
There are times where I look up
I see your face
And you’re gone.
I’m starting to see you in places you’re not.
— Rudy Francisco (via rudyfrancisco)
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her."
— Junot Diaz, This is How You Lose Her (via golden-notes)
I think re-watching HIMYM is turning me into that hopeless romantic I was before.
DAMMIT TED MOSBY
Believe me when I say I don’t have any feelings. I left my heart with the last girl that made me feel like I’m in love, my slacks seem a lot more fitted than the heart on my sleeve, and I don’t have much remorse for a heart break I ensued.
But like a Michael Jackson song you got me floating heads over heels, tripping over every word I say, you got me feeling some type of way.
And I really, really don’t know how you’re doing this to me.
I’m kinda sick and tired of writing about ‘love’ and ‘girls’
Like wtf I don’t have feelings why am I posting these things.
Almost my entire love life has consisted of waiting.
Waiting on them. Waiting on something to happen. Waiting on the right time.
I guess I just want something that feels
the moment he pushes all the way in, look him directly in the eye, lock your legs around him, and in your deepest voice whisper “we are groot”
this is prime.