Courtney

I’ll never cry in front of you. I’ll never tell you how I feel. I’ll never wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m not an open book. My walls will always be up and guarded. I won’t tell you how I fight with myself about you, about how I shouldn’t want you, about how you’ll break my heart if I give mine to you. I won’t tell you how my heart constricts at the thought of you leaving me. I’ll never show you how scared I am of this… Of you… Of us. You’re real. You’re everything I want, and nothing is certain. Everything is blurred and we walk on this thin line between reality and fantasy. You’re a dream and a nightmare. I find peace in you when everything else is chaos. I don’t know what this is and that uncertainty scares me but maybe just maybe if I stay around, you will too.

I pushed people away for so long, I no longer know how to let them in.

Lonely hearts have a tendency to stick their veins out, in hope of connecting to someone else’s blood vessels. The only problem is that the bearers of those hearts have reached a point where they feel like they don’t know how to do that anymore. They’ve been put down too many times, told that they’re abnormal so often, to the point of nearly believing it themselves. They tell themselves that they just aren’t meant to be around anyone else, that they were born to love infinitely and to never be loved the same.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

Never get too attached to anyone unless they also feel the same towards you, because one sided expectations can mentally destroy you.

I can pretend as if you’ve never existed. Don’t test me