high and dry

“You stop waiting for people to come back; start looking instead for the people who are willing to stay.”

“A vice is nothing more than a substitution for love. A cheap imitation at best. But it does the job.”

“He lives here in my heart, nestled between fragile dreams and impossible hopes.”

i really hate the fact every relationship i get in my first thought is

“I’m not the girl your mother warns you about. I won’t kiss your best friend or break your heart. I won’t make you choose between what you love to do & me. I’m not cold. I’m not reckless. I will love you more than anything. I will kiss you when you cry. I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise.”

“I don’t think we deserve each other. I love you too much and you love too many things. It breaks me to know that I only receive a portion of what I give.”

That’s always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they’re pretty. It’s like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste.”

It’s important to make sure that we’re talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds.

If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you. I was something you kept in your pocket, folded up, changed so that you could be more comfortable. If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you, in that I felt your pains, listened to your stories when you needed me to, and usually those stories were sad, because in your moments of weakness were the only times you wanted me, the only times you needed me. If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you, because after I heard your stories, I’d carry your pain for you, empathize, so that you could forget, and carry on, though I never forgot, and so your pains killed me everyday, but they never hurt you, because they hurt me instead. If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you, in that you bent me, hurt me, made my insides spill out sometimes onto a dirty city street, when you weren’t careful, and you were never sorry, because I was just another cigarette, so I could be discarded. If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you, and I realized that fact early on, but lived in denial, spending every waking moment believing that things could change, and so I never said anything, even though it killed me, and my insides fell out, and you were never sorry, and so I carried that pain, my own pain, on my own as well. If I were to explain it all now, I think that I was just another cigarette to you, and so I was lit on fire, burning sensations, by delusions that maybe you would love me, and it was great in the short term, made me feel something, but quickly burned me out. And now, without even my insides, I am empty, sucked dry, I am only the end of a cigarette, the part that cannot bring you comfort, and so you abandoned me on the side of the road, with no remorse, because I was only a cigarette, and now, I’m not even that.