Creative Outlet

your voice sounds strange played back in recordings, your cologne doesnt smell as good sprayed on your tee shirt, your words don’t feel the same when they’re not fresh off your tongue, the heart shaped necklace you gave me doesnt fall right on my chest.

Let me tell you a little about love. After being alone for so long all you want is to be wanted. Three months later he becomes your reason to live; the reason you lock your habits in the desk and start a box to keep his things. After five months you can’t sleep without his scent and you start experiencing withdrawal from his voice. Seven months down the road he leaves for good. This time he doesn’t come back. You burn the box of his things and find that key to your desk. You tell yourself if you get rid of everything he’s touched you’ll be okay again. But you forget he touched you more than anything else.

“I’ll tell myself you cared but I don’t think that makes it hurt any less. You either got tired of me or I was just convenient, but either way I’m left with tear stained pillows and smoke in my lungs. The blood on the floor and the shaky hands that long for yours remind me of the loneliness and the fact that I’m not okay.”

And I remember in health class talking about the symptoms of drug withdrawal but they never said anything about withdrawal from a person and how being with them cant always cure the everlasting need for them.

i want to /mean/ something to someone

but how am i suppose to write down my dreams when they’re all about you and my hand shakes and my stomach knots when i remember the sound of your voice how am i supposed to write each word that carries every feeling you ever gave me without throwing up how am i suppose to explain that i only dream about you even though you broke my heart and you’ll never be mine how am i supposed to analyze my unconscious mind without crying until i drown, screaming your name

you’re seventeen and think you’ve already seen heartbreak- the kind that tears you down and lets you believe youre nothing. but you’re seventeen sitting in your room alone crying hoping no one hears but praying they do because you can’t do this much longer and if someone doesn’t find you soon they may never find you at all. and you were only seventeen and he was never yours but God he couldve been, he shouldve been, but hes the one you wont ever fully get rid of. because in seventeen years youll still talk and some words will send memories flooding back to your mind about how perfect he was and how perfect you could have been.