Her soul was dark and cold, every time she laid her pretty little fingers on something it messed up, whether if it was spilling coffee on library books or kissing the man she loved goodbye, permanently. Her legs were always banged and bruised from falling up and down staircases, she was too clumsy, she had dresses but never wore the because of it. Her arms had scars on them, from the past, always reminding her what happened. Most the time she cried more than smiled, and she remembered the bad more than the good. Very few friends were in her life, some she said hello to every month, and one she talked to daily. Everything was beautiful to her, the freckle on your noise, the dark circles under his eyes. Everything except herself. She was alone, broken, worried.

But let me tell you, despite her dull winter evenings on summer nights, her silent cries before sleep, her angry behavior when she messed up, she was something else. She was made to be perfectly imperfect, it was all in the way she walked, the way she talked. How she stumbled over her words but made them flow from her pen. The way her heart was the only warmth in her body, bigger than her being. The way her sad eyes got a little happier during Christmas time. The way she held secrets and mysteries in her head, despite the thoughts of wishing she was dead. She is beautiful, unique. She’s my 2 am crying phone call, my spilled ink on the pages, my winter loving summer hating, my tea drinker, my sad but happy, my girl. She’s my girl.

i.c. //  i like to imagine
how he feels about me.
(via delicatepoetry)
““Baby,” she says in the softest voice her chest
could find, “please, don’t ever go.” She feels
pathetic in the way she speaks, only he could
make her feel so small, so tiny, so inferior. He’s
the only one that can make her feel so strong yet
so damn weak at the same time, he pushes her
and pulls her, he stitches her seams together so
only his hands have the power to tear them apart.
Sometimes she feels like half a soul when he’s away,
that’s why she always begs for him to stay, please
stay. She doesn’t mind sleeping in the palm of his
hands, she doesn’t mind as long as he never lets
go because then she will wake up to a nightmare.
A life without him isn’t a life she would want to
live, the truth to be told. So she will whisper in his
ear, with a sweet voice and petal soft lips, gently
tickling his skin, as a reminder to not let these
moments go. Don’t let her go, don’t let me go, baby.”
i.c. // i’m tied on your string,
don’t cut me loose (via delicatepoetry)
“We’re all just lonely paintings covered in dust, hoping that someone will see our beauty in the brush strokes and take us home.”
— Me, apparently being deep (via wolf-and-dragon)
iglovequotes:

Daily dose of love quotes here
“There was a girl I used to know but I haven’t seen her in awhile. She was beautiful, smart, confident, free spirited. She could turn an uneasy silence into a conversation. She could make you smile just like that, and she could even make you cry just like that. She felt like she could change the world, paint it different colors. She could conquer anything. She believed in fairy tale’s, dreams, and love.”
“Our love was never meant to be the forever kind.
From the beginning it had a certain end.
An unavoidable conclusion that loomed with each breath.
Our’s was the kind of love that took every waking moment.
We consumed one another.
Both of us knowing that these moments were fleeting, that time was almost up, and so we desperately grasped seconds minutes hours between our fingers.
We never said one day.
We never planned maybes or could bes.
Our’s was a loved derived from a fate that never ended in Us.
Yet we stubbornly fought against this, us with our flailing fists and kicking legs, us with our hands clasped tightly together.
But in the end it wasn’t enough.
With bloodied fists and bruised legs, our hands loosened, our hands unravelled.
And even though we saw it coming for us, saw the ropes binding our ankles, saw them tug and tug and tug, we still fought until it tore at our skin, until the ropes burnt and cut, until finally there was no Us, just two people sore and aching and bleeding.
And there we were, not you and I, just you, and just I, both of us bleeding.
We bled the memories and the feelings, ridding our veins of one another until all that had once been was just a puddle on the ground.
Our love was a damned, fated, cursed one.
Our love was not forever.
It was for then.
And it will never be again.”
And, my darling, I am still bleeding - (EC)

I read it in his voice

Boring men keep messaging me
on the internet. Dating websites
are a bit of a joke.
No one can handle
the punchline. They want
my body, but you want me body,
mind and soul.

We still love each other
with our messy personas-
our emotional states
of too much and
not enough.

We were close immediately
as though we had taken hold
of each other in previous lifetimes
like this has all already happened
and will continue to happen
forever.

I tell you I will probably
spend my birthday alone.
Wandering some city nearby.

You tell me to get
a plane ticket, so I can
be happy. With you.
If even for a little while.

"Let Me Be In San Francisco" by Radha Kistler {radhakistler.com} (via floatinginthethoughtstreams)