- Clementine Von Radics

i can only feel a thing in the summer, there's nothing left come winter.

“part of me is mad that i wrote you into my stories. because i can no longer read them without falling in love, and breaking my heart at the same time. but part of me is so glad i did. because it reminds of how beautiful our love was, even if it destroyed me.”

i still miss you (via baby-imyoursx)

I wish I could see you one last time.

I wish I knew the last time was the last time.

It’ll never happen, but if it did,

I think my heart would stop beating. I think my lungs would refuse air.

And I think I’d die when you just look the other way without a care in the world.

I could hear it in your voice the last time we spoke. You’ve always been able to see into the deep dark crevices of my mind and soul

I’ll always remember that look on your face. You saw me. You’ve always seen me. And I think that’s all that anyone wants.

Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Somewhere, there’s a version of us that survived.

I’m sorry if any of your broken pieces have my name on them. God knows most of mine have your name tattooed on them in the same black ink etched in my skin with your memory summed up in a song lyric.

“I hate who I have to be without you next to me”

“I went crazy when I was with you. I can’t let that happen again. Love is not supposed to do that. You made me go mad.”

— Effy Stonem

no ones ever let me break my own heart like you did . . .

the diary in my head. 

“Were we ever meant to get it right?”

I’m still mesmerized by your writing, I hope I didn’t take that from you. Do you ever think about me ? I’m sorry it’s selfish to ask.

Sometimes I forget that you used to write about me. I forget that you loved me with the same fire that burned inside of me. I let my pain make me forget. I let my pain replace the patience and forgiveness that we once had for one another and the pure belief that you meant what you did. But your words and actions said you knew it was a mistake, I just wouldn’t let myself hear it. Until it was too late. Until we became the strangers we promised we’d never be. I forget you used to write about me, maybe that’s why a piece of my heart will be forever intertwined with the words on your tongue.

I’m sorry. I am so sorry I let the darkness take over. I was the problem all along. I told you how much I fought loving you, it seems like it was all I knew to write for a while. But it seems like no matter how hard you tried I was never ready to stop fighting. For us. Against us. I think the fire burned too hot to ever find comfort in. But if I’m being honest the memory of what we called the future still lives in a house in the back of my mind. Sometimes I step inside and I can hear the laughter over the music. I can feel a warmth of happiness wash over me. It could’ve been real. But I always lock the door as I leave, keeping that happiness right where I found it. Because I’ll never be able to touch it again, not without thousands of pieces of glass shattering all around me. Not without hearts being ripped from chests. Not with any certainty that that happiness has a home outside of my mind.

If I could do it all again … I would’ve loved you sooner. And I would’ve stopped fighting against us. I would’ve given you what you needed without the fear living in my stomach. I would’ve slapped you that night. And then I would have kissed you. We would’ve been infinite.

Je t'aime à la lune et retour ours en peluche.Quand mes yeux ouverts dans la matinée tout ce qu'ils veulent, c'est de vous voir