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Forever and always.

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There’s a pool of blood under my bed. Every time I put my feet down, I feel it’s wetness. And like a parasite I feel the thick warm liquid gushing upwards on my skin, under my clothes. The wetness becoming a part of my being - inside and out… Until I’m nothing but painful agony, the blood compensating for the wounds that bleed sorrow.
Dear Love,
Predictions
It has always been me… You wouldn’t want to admit it, until her lips will be against your neck…and you’ll find yourself trying not to say my name….
I like seeing that little status saying that you're online. I keep my app open and feel a sort of empty closure seeing you come online and when go offline and then come online again. Maybe you're chatting with someone. Maybe you're reading some old conversation. Maybe you open my chat window...and you're starting at my online status. Maybe you miss me just as much as I miss you?

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You say I'm done with you like I'm an object you've used and now want to throw away. I can't imagine you'd realise how much you've hurt me. But allow me to be rude to you too please. Because there's a lot that I never liked about you and I accepted it anyway because while you were using me I was accepting you for who you are.
I want to message you again and again. But I've understood how irritating it is for you. So I open the chat. Write you things and then close it, never pressing send... There are so many things I need to say to you, so many answers that my mind will fathom, that my heart knows will never cross neither your lips nor mine. One day I'll write our stories and give us a happy ending... Whoever said it was right, "Love is reflected in heartbreak, truth in stories" The truth need not be the reality...
Don’t tell me this is the end for us. Here’s a pen, please keep writing. I will tear down every flier, save every gum wrapper, gather all the blank pages in the world just so we can keep writing our story. I will paint the words of our love all over my body until I am nothing but color. I will write until the lamp burns out, and then light a candle and keep writing. I will scribble on the backs of bus seats and graffiti on buildings with abandoned walls. I will not let you stop us now. We can tell the most beautiful love story the world has ever heard, if we keep writing. Please take this pen.
quesadillapoetry (via wnq-writers)
I’m sorry Nothing about me is easy to love Especially with the walls I’ve enclosed myself in. You promised you’d never hurt me, And while I believe every bit of it, Everyone who has ever hurt me Promised me the same thing. I don’t know how to trust people, And I don’t know how to stop this Intense urge to run. I’m sorry That I can’t seem to remember that you love me Unless I hear you say it. It’s not an easy thing to remember When I can’t find a single thing I love about me Even after nineteen goddamn years. I’m sorry Hating myself is as easy to me as breathing Especially in this godforsaken town, Where I’m receding back into old habits And turning into the version of myself I loathed enough to try to kill it completely, And I don’t think there’s a thing I can do to stop it. I’m sorry All I can do is whisper apologies instead of fixing a thing. Self destruction has always been one of my finer skills. I’m sorry
Late Night Apologies // -STG (inksplatteredpages)
My heart is plagued with sorrow and soon the disease will have taken over all of my body. A part of me almost anticipates the familiar pains. And a part just wants to go numb, to not feel a thing. To just lie down in the forest of shadows and never get up, never face anyone, no thoughts, no memories in my head. Just my body laying in the soil, awaiting nothing.

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Unspoken agreements...
Sun kissed shadows
Out there in the cold... Getting lonely, getting old...
My heart yearns for those lazy days and nights
The unreplied messages were a reply in itself....

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The first night we stayed awake With confessions pouring from our lips As easy as air, He laced his fingers through mine and whispered “They fit pretty well together.” And my words were too jumbled to leave The tip of my tongue. The night he held me so tightly Like I just might shatter if he let go, He watched the tears leave my eyes And shower over him like raindrops, He whispered in my ear “You need me, and I need you.” And All I could think of was how He was making promises he couldn’t keep. Now months later, Those words are empty Like his smile and my eyes.
Confessions // -STG (inksplatteredpages)
Excerpt from How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid