Just because you miss someone, it doesn’t mean you should go back to them. Sometimes you have to just keep missing them until you wake up one morning and realise that you don’t anymore.
If I had a drink for every fuck I gave about you, I’d be intoxicated forever. I’d drink myself to death.
I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things… I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind.
I am sorry for filling you with beer and bad thoughts and then asking you why you shook. I am sorry for pinching you, for hitting you, for bruising the thin-skinned parts of you. I am sorry for the names I called you when we were fighting. You are not ugly. You are not useless. You would not be better off gone. I’m sorry for almost throwing you out into the street because my sadness was too much for me. I’m sorry for carving my fingernails into your thigh and then resenting the way people asked, “How’d that happen?” I’m sorry for plucking you and nicking your calves with drugstore razors. I’m sorry I let some people see you in the moonlight. They didn’t deserve to know the color of your hips like I do. I’m sorry for leaving you convulsing over a toilet bowl over some boy. I’m sorry I did not thank you for simply trying to take me where I wanted to go. I’m sorry I screamed at you to shrink, shrink, shrink when all you could do was grow. I’m sorry that this apology is ten years too late. I’m sorry that it will probably come again. I’m sorry that I do not treat anybody else as poorly as I have treated you. I’m sorry that I am constantly learning how to love you, when you have never once doubted how you feel about me. I’m sorry in ways I have not yet learned to communicate.
An Apology to My Body | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
I asked Robi if she could give me an opinion on this and she burst into tears in our school library. I made someone cry for the day. Time to pack it in, boys and girls.
What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.
I think it’s time I let you go. And that’s so hard to do because some part of me will be in love with you for the rest of my life. But the daydreaming, the running in place, it’s not healthy. So this is me, cutting the cord. This is me doing what I should have done months ago: saying goodbye.
the way your fingers
traced my blue veins;
because of your touch,
the only marks I want
left on my wrists
are your fingerprints.