When you fall asleep, you breathe
like you’re gasping; like things
have never been easy for you and
your lungs are used to trying too
hard. Maybe that’s why you’re
ready to quit before you hit twenty.
It’s 2am and I’m inconsolable
because you said you want to die.
I don’t always tell you the truth
because sometimes kindness is
more important, but I’m not lying
about this: You are amazing. Your
shoulders are a world wonder and
your heart is more tender than the
hidden belly of wild animals.
Maybe that’s why you crush so
easily. I’m proud of my hand prints
on your skin in the places I’ve
helped build you up, but the truth
is you only really need me because
you wouldn’t believe you were
strong if the words didn’t come
from someone else’s mouth. I
can’t live in a world that was too
hard for you to make it in. You;
the boy who laughs at clouds.
You; the boy who taught me
freedom. When you fall deeper
asleep, you curl into my chest and
I hold the back of your head. You
haven’t made sense of not being
a child anymore. The world feels
big enough to run from, but don’t.
You are just the right size to take it
on. You are just enough you to
fill your place in the universe.

anne, don’t die (via anneisrestless)

Has the color of your
eyes changed? We felt
like a lifetime ago, so
I wouldn’t really be
surprised if they have.

Everything about you
seems so different now.
Maybe I pictured your eyes
to be more emerald than
they truly were. Was your
smile really as bright? Did
you make me laugh quite
that hard, or did I feign
giggles to cover up the
fact that we never fit
quite as painlessly as
my subconscious would
have me believe?

My long-term fondness
contorts the memories
into something
they never were.

Noor Shiraziei’m not sure you ever existed. (via aestheticintrovert)

When you see the first
twinkling that appears at dusk,
don’t just make a wish,
follow that north star,
and look for the moss that grows
on the parts we once touched,
I left my footprints embedded
on the marshy ground alongside
yours which have faded,
I have tread onto
an off beaten path
so I’ll be waiting for you
where the track meets an end,
you’ll know by my smoke signals
that I am lost without you,
so I’ll stay where I am,
hoping you find
your way back to me.

Back to me (by Jai R.)

12 Months of Self-Creation Instead of Self-Destruction (Depression Survival Guide)

writingsforwinter:

January: When hell seems more comfortable than earth, pack a backpack with food and water for seven days and hit the open road with your thumb stuck out no matter how cold it is outside. For every passing car that refuses to pick you up, remember that reaching your final destination of happiness…

He will brush against your thigh and pretend that he didn’t, and he’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he likes them. He will take the band out of your ponytail because he likes your hair long, he will let you listen to his favourite song and it will get stuck in your head. He will kiss your lips until they are numb and he will hold your hands until they go numb too. Don’t watch the sunset with him, because you won’t be able to watch it again without missing the smell of his cologne. Don’t make him call you by your nickname, because afterwards you won’t be able to hear it. Your heart will be heavy and so will your head but just remember you were beautiful before he said so.

some advice i gave to a friend (via desc-end)

(via prodigious-fondness)

I was told love would
come if I waited but we both
know I’m too impulsive for that.
If you don’t wait for wine it’s
just grape juice and you could
drink it all day and have nothing
but a stomach ache. I keep trying
to get drunk on you. It doesn’t
make sense to be disappointed
about snow in the winter – this
isn’t the right season for us. I’m
so sorry that I keep pressing
myself against you; I’m even
more sorry for allowing you to
press yourself against me.

anne, i should be waiting to fall in love but instead i keep finding you (via anneisrestless)

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful. It isn’t fucking poetry, it’s not staying up ‘til 4 am listening to sad songs. It’s breaking down in the middle of a busy street. It’s seeing their face in all the people you pass by. It’s feeling okay for weeks at a time and then all of a sudden, you feel the ghost of their lips on your neck and their nails on your back and then you’re choking on memories of their presence. It’s waking up from dreams of them coming back and screaming in the middle of the night because your chest aches like a rotting tooth. Stop romanticizing pain. Stop using people like they’re objects. A heart isn’t a cigarette - you can’t just light it up and then stomp it out when you’re done. Don’t act like anything about heartbreak is beautiful, because I wouldn’t wish that feeling upon my worst of enemies.