Sta.sh
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anomicForgetting you isn't a matter of just forgetting your name. If that were true, Juliet would have dived head-first into Romeo's arms and never looked back on her castle. If that were true, I'd be able to cross-out every occurance of your name in every poem I've ever written and then you would only be some faceless, nameless representation of this uncontrollable fear and love inside me that rises at the smell of cinnamon or sound of bass guitar.anomic by ~kokutan-tenshi
And even if it were as easy as forgetting your name, you know I'd be lost in a sea of searching for it for the next hundred years. Aphasia is one of my weakest points - and you are the weakest of them
A Country Mile WideI'm remembering golden fields. And mud. Your little brother, whose grin was shaped nothing like yours but held just as much happiness, was making a memory with us. An afternoon of sun and dust and just enough breeze to send me into a few high-pitched sneezing fits but not enough to call us back into the house until well after dark.A Country Mile Wide by ~kokutan-tenshi
There's warmth and fullness and ecstasy welling up from the pit of my stomach when I think about how good your suntanned shoulder felt against my cheek and how safe my hand felt in yours. There's... a little laughter because even though it was against your better judgement, you let me drive the four-wheeler right
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I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone. by ~paperheartsyndrome
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a
winter heart.maybe it's the weather. maybe it's the steam in the morning and the fog in my lungs that brings these words to life. i can feel them stirring under my breath like a second life; i can taste them in the december air that teases nostalgia from the pitter patter of my winter heart.winter heart. by =corina90
it's like life is a faded photograph. its like time is a frozen lake. it's like i'm sitting on porches wearing oversized sweaters and holding cups that burn the tips of my numb fingertips. it's like i'm in a forest and it's damp. it's dark. it tastes like a memory and the rain looks the way it did two years ago when i was broken. it's like remembering something perfe
