You will end up alone darling. Think about it. You think you're fooling everyone, but at the end of the day, you're only fooling yourself.
~Excerpt from a letter to my ex
Cosmic Funnies

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@chasing--ghxsts
You will end up alone darling. Think about it. You think you're fooling everyone, but at the end of the day, you're only fooling yourself.
~Excerpt from a letter to my ex

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The worst part about someone's death isn't the endless memories you created with them, it's not the little things they left here and there, the personal effects that they'll never use again, it's not regretting not telling them enough times how much you loved them, it's not the stillness of their face before they closed the coffin
The worst part about someone's death is knowing that, no matter where you go from now on, no matter what house, what street, what shop, what city, what country, what planet you go to, they won't be there, and they'll never be again.
~On my mother's death
The worst part about someone's death isn't the endless memories you created with them, it's not the little things they left here and there, the personal effects that they'll never use again, it's not regretting not telling them enough times how much you loved them, it's not the stillness of their face before they closed the coffin
The worst part about someone's death is knowing that, no matter where you go from now on, no matter what house, what street, what shop, what city, what country, what planet you go to, they won't be there, and they'll never be again.
~On my mother's death
“But darling it doesn’t matter that I’m not your first as long as I can be your last”
— I want to be your last everything

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“I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.”
— Arthur Miller, The Crucible (via wordsnquotes)
“You have a way of making everyone around you feel special even when they really don’t mean anything to you, I should’ve known I wasn’t an exception.”
— Things I realized when I remembered you didn’t love me, part V (via thingsirealizedwhen)
“I’ve only ever fallen in love twice: with big city and small town. I met big city at a bar (of course), and he offered to buy me a drink (of course), and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. That’s just how big city works. But when he called, I was young enough to think the nervous pit in my stomach meant something good. Big city was older than me, and richer than me, and had a white collar job with a personal assistant. He liked to talk about important things like finances and politics and himself. But that was ok because big city was cool. He showed me all about the world, like smoking and fucking and staying out too late. Before I met him, I was small and shy. I had bangs. Big city liked that about me, he said. Liked that I was so much more than I seemed. And then, five weeks later, he told me he loved me, and I believed him. But big city was also fast and sharp and full of dark alleys where men in trench coats auctioned off black magic. Full of prettier people and power. I was only 19 at the time, just a kid, and big city took everything I had, chewed it up, and spat me back out on the concrete. He smiled with all of his teeth and told me we’d had a fun run. I went to therapy for weeks, and big city was engaged six months later to a woman with a loud mouth and no bangs. But I’ve fallen in love twice. And small town came along just like big city, only many years later. He asked for my number at a bar and laughed too loud when I said no. I thought it was because he was cocky, but I found out later that he always laughs too loud when he's nervous. And God was he nervous. But I said no, and he laughed too loud, and then I didn’t see him for three whole months. Until his friend and my friend got engaged and we had to moonwalk down the isle at their wedding. He offered to buy me a drink, and I said yes, but only because it was an open bar. One drink, two drinks, three, four fivesixseveen. We talked about our families, and did the YMCA, and passed out in my hotel room. And small town held me when I cried and owned a little cafe that did well enough to pay the bills, and small town smiled. He let me tell him about the world. He liked holding hands and Harry Potter. Small town talked dirty and shut down the cafe some days so we could spend all afternoon naked in bed. And we held each other just as tight. Small town met my parents before saying I love you and when he said it, he really meant it. He smelled like warm bread and pine trees, and when small town talked, it was about important things like good books and insecurities and the future. And here’s the thing, being with him wasn’t anything like being with anyone else. It was like coming home after traveling the world. Knowing all the rooms by heart. Laying in your childhood bed and thinking, this is it, kiddo. You fucking did it. And maybe for you it’s big city or small town or someone else entirely. I think maybe we fall in love everyday, but sometimes it's different. Sometimes it’s everything. Just trust that it’s out there. Please, please. Just wait for your homecoming.”
— everything I know about love (via yourhandwrittenletter)

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friendly reminder that you didn’t waste your year. any moments of happiness or comfort, any small accomplishments, they all matter. this has been a really hard year, and simply surviving is something to be proud of.
Simply surviving is something to be proud of 💫
I won’t glorify or romanticize heartbreak. For me, it was a kind of death and I was forced to keep living.
~ Warsan Shire
Like it or not, I’ll be at your place when you come home tonight. I desperately need to hear your voice, even if it shouts at me.
~ Unsent text

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Shes always so right
And I wonder what you do, during those endless afternoons. I, don’t do much, to be honest. I lie on my bed, then I go downstairs, I grab something to eat sometimes, when my stomach isn’t in knots for a few minutes, I smoke, I go lie on my bed again, I cry, I smoke again. When the loneliness gets too heavy, I go out, I sit at a terrace, hoping to see you maybe, I watch the strangers around me and sometimes, from afar, some of them look like you for a second, and my heart skips a beat. I sit in a park, on the bench where we once shared milkshakes, and I watch the flowers grow while I wither, I start texting you then I delete the words before I send them, because I told you I’d give you some space, I walk around trying to pass the time. At night, I start drinking, and your absence becomes even more invasive, and the more I fill myself with alcohol, the emptier I become. I start texting you then I send the words before I can delete them, because I told you I’d give you some space but I can’t. Sometimes you respond, sometimes you don’t, but whether you do or not, I always go to bed wanting to scratch my skin, with that persistent feeling of devastating emptiness. I wake up the morning after, and I start all over again.
~ Days without you