I Wanna Steal Your Socks For Eternity

Well, you’ll break his heart and he’ll break yours. But you won’t forget each other, even if one day you walk past him and neither of you acknowledges it. That’s the thing about first loves, you never forget them, they are the only person who gets your whole untouched heart. They get all the love you’ve saved up for this moment and they get to keep it forever. You may never speak again but you can guarantee that you can still picture his eyes looking into yours as he said those three words, the way he kissed you afterwards and couldn’t stop repeating those words over and over until you were both too tired to speak. However you’ll also always remember the last time he said those three words, and told you that he was going to come back for you, the way he made you believe that a happy ending did exist for both of you. Those memories will come back to you in waves, all the firsts and all the lasts, the good and the bad, but what’s important is the fact that your first love is just that, the first but not the last.

from me to you (via gemmarambles)

He picked me once, and he might not pick me still. But he picked me once, and that'll have to be enough for this lifetime, right?

Even though it isn't

there’s a ten year old boy in my high school honors math class who speaks six different languages.

You're not the same boy and I'm not the same girl we were when we fell in and out of love. That is both heart-wrenching and relieving.

I still remember who you were

This is a poem about how you never get the kiss you want when you want it; how time twines around your neck, its thorns digging into your skin so you can never forget how clinging to a string of hope, threading it between your spine, and having it unravel before you in the span of an hour is worse than any metaphor about nakedness that you poets will ever write. This is my reflection in the mirror. This stanza is the small gap where my fingers try to touch against the glass. You can’t even possess yourself; let alone the person you see standing before you. The moon hasn’t come back from the cleaners yet and I have nothing to slip into tonight that makes my reflection feel beautiful. Time is falling through the hole in my pocket. January is coming soon, and I have a feeling that he’s never going to fall out of love with this December. He’ll still write her love letters. He’ll send her white orchids on every lonely holiday and pretend that love is a place you can cross state lines to get back to, but it’s that time of the year again, and calendar sales keep reminding us all that we can never get back to where we once wanted so bad to lose ourselves in for good.

It Took Time (Shinji Moon)

and you’ll forget about the heartbreak you had at 19 when you’re 21, or tomorrow. please let it be tomorrow.

i’m trying to forget