WhoEdJones

HOLY SHIT, IT WAS THE ORIGINAL ONE

You know what I am going to say. I love you. What I mean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me. You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me.

I cannot believe that the purpose of life is to be happy. I think the purpose of life is to be useful, to be responsible, to be compassionate. It is, above all, to matter and to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference that you lived at all.

I have stopped being sorry for being honest. I have stopped being sorry for not being perfect. I have stopped being sorry for being sensitive. I have stopped being sorry for crying when I had every reason to. I have stopped being sorry for cutting them & their negativity off my life. I have stopped being sorry for being me.

culturenlifestyle:

The reason why we can’t let go of someone is because deep down inside we still have hope.

I appreciate every piece of you. Your sadness. Your deep hazel eyes. Your long fingers. Your dark sense of humor. Your soft laughter. Your wit. Your boyish charm. Your lengthy stride. Your raspy voice in the morning. Your warmth at night. Your intelligence. All of it.

She is more than just her body. Pay attention to the way she speaks about her dreams. I mean really pay attention. When you see the way her eyes light up when she tells you about her passions; you will swear that God gave you your own personal star to take care of. Stop her if she apologizes for being a burden, and assure her that you enjoy her presence and her smile that grows wider and warmer with each second like the morning sunrise. If she doesn’t apologize, stay quiet; that means she is sure of herself and that’s wonderful. Listen to her thoughts long enough, and you will realize that she is more than strawberry lips and satin skin. Her voice will become your favorite song, the runner up being her laugh only because there’s just something about the way she sounds at 2am when everything is quiet except the inside of your head and she is all you can tolerate. You will look in the mirror and your reflection will feel incomplete; the space left over when she is not around will tug on the heartstrings you forgot you had until you next meet and when you do, you will question how her soul can be so shiny in such a dark world. She will become everything you think you want and everything you fear; her words spoken with an intensity that will make you believe there is fire coursing through her veins hotter than the flames of life that forged her. The only thing able to match the heat will be the way she touches you like she wishes she could burn her name onto your skin, not knowing that you already feel like her image is seared into your eyelids, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, she will smell amazing. She is a hurricane and you will know this but you will want to call her home. I’m telling you, she is more than just her body. And if you’ve managed to see her naked, you still haven’t seen anything yet.

You know when, sometimes you meet someone so beautiful, and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later, they’re as dull as a brick? Then there’s other people, and you meet them and you think, ‘Not bad; they’re okay.’ And then you get to know them, and their face sort of becomes them, like their personality is written all over it. And they just turn into something so beautiful.

I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you. You would say it’s too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can’t be measured by time. Ask me an hour from now. Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast.