#tifmos

I know that every time you see Calvin & Hobbes or gummy bears, you think of me; & I smile, 'cause I think of you.

You know that feeling of relief you get when you finally find a familiar wall or table you can cling onto after you've been searching in the dark? She was that feeling.

Losses & Gains

No pido mucho. Solo esto: que seas las Lomas de mi Zamora; o yo las Lomas y tú Zamora. Se la luz que torna este corazón de papel en amable forma. Se mi cultura. Se mi religión y mi oración. Que de nuestro amor se hable con la dulzura de una mirada ilusionada. Se, que de ti estaré enamorada hasta que Zamora no tenga Lomas.

Tonight I noticed something: how quick we are to hurt. Humans. We're so funny. Thinking, loving, hurting, and dying. All for what? Memories? Stories? No. All to not feel alone. And as I lay on this cold floor, I'm so uncomfortable. I don't wanna cry. And I don't want to waste my time on humans who don't think I matter. I'm okay with being alone. I know that now. I'm broken. I'm fucked up. But I now love myself the way I've been loving others. Many truths are mistaken for lies. My mistake was loving your eyes. Yes, I cried. I cried because I'm hurt and I don't know how to express it. And now more than ever, I'd like to converse with your ex, and meet her brokenness.

You know what the problem is; you and your fascination for new lovers. Or should I say, leftovers. Constantly searching for new lips, and hips, to press against. To rub some of your crumbs for lust onto someone who has no idea how fucked up you really are. But they won't ask and you won't tell them. And when it's all over, I'll be here and you know this. And I hate it.

I didn’t erase my love, I misplaced it on different bodies and things so it wouldn’t die. But I know that everything dies, yet something deep within tells me no; that I can only erase things that were lies. But the question arises in my mind. Which where the lies, the truths and the half said things you gave me? Was any of it mine? I mean, really mine? Or were they leftovers, of past lovers; old habits, scaring new flesh. All flesh gets old like mine, after you touched it. You made me into a fossil, a reminder of what I was when I loved you. I hope you’ll someday feel your rugged skin & be reminded that one doesn’t have to die to be dead.

Your lips are the exact fit for mine. Kinda like how you fit perfectly in my heart and linger constantly in my mind.