incandescenc-e:

I’m not ready to write about this yet. I want to, but I’m just not ready. And it’s not something I can force, because this- this, whatever ‘this’ is- seems so fucking fragile when I hold it close to my lips and it’s all I can do not to cry again the way I did when he chased me down and held me tight to his chest last night on a street in the pitch dark, cry a year’s worth of regrets and mistakes that give away the fact that no matter where I am or what I do to try to heal myself, my heart has been putting itself back together and breaking apart endlessly all this time. I don’t know how to hurt it or heal it permanently and the most horrifying thing of all is- I’m not sure I want to give myself that sense of closure, in all its ambiguity and lines of doubt. Because some things inside me I can’t bring to forgive myself for and I hate myself so much for feeling this way but I don’t know how to not, and there is no one in this world that I can think of to turn to for this because face it- I am running, always running, and I am so, so scared of the idea of people loving me in any way because in all of my experience, I’ve learned that eventually it gets too hard for them to handle and they stop. I am terrified that they will all someday just cease to care that I do my best to keep them from starting, but some people just slip under your skin and inject their love into your bloodstream and far too quickly, there is no longer any way to distinguish your love from theirs.. and they’ve become such an integral part of your soul that without them, you’re apathy, you’re empty, you’re nothing. So I try my best to hold them at an arm’s distance because I’m so afraid of my overwhelming capacity of irrevocably loving them too much and so afraid of my overwhelming fear of irrevocably losing them too, but life sure has a funny sense of irony because in the process of shutting them out to keep from becoming nothing, I’ve somehow grown into my nothingness like it’s a second layer of skin; and now, no matter how deeply I try to dig up the passions I laid to rest I can’t bring myself to find anything but a hopeless, gaping void where all my love used to thrive in the dried riverbeds of my veins or the dead roses on my heart.

(via whitecoffeecups)

veiledwavpv:

I loathe conversations that lack of substantial flow and inconsistent contents about nothing in particular eye widening. It is tough talking to one of my friend because it is always small talk and there is nothing more do I hate in conversing than small talk. I loathe it; it is realizing the conversations are going nowhere, but still in small talks that make me want to rip the roots out from my very own scalp—out of pure aggravation. I like talking to people who expects I know—not people who assumes everyone does. I like those kind of people. Rather than asking first about something, having been told it first makes me feel a lot more comfortable to ask my questions.

(via whitecoffeecups)

michellescribbles:

The sky is teetering between winter and spring and I’m only just patiently waiting for the sun to kiss my face again because that’s one thing that you can’t take away from me. I’m a disaster and I can never quite get the coffee right, always burnt or grainy, too thin like empty words and too thick like verbal knife-fights. But I’m up on my own two feet, putting right before left and left before right and I’m trying. I’m trying (unlike you) and for once it feels good to do. Independence has never been my strongest point. I’d always be accompanied to the doctor, to the dentist, into the store, and across the street. I’d had my hands held for the longest time in ways unimaginable to most. But this is a new frontier where I’ve got nothing constant to clutch, and I’ll begin each day by remembering the goal of not looking back.

(via rainytuesdaymornings)