• I dreamed about you again. Your eyes still shine brighter than the stars we watched ever did. I'm trying to fall asleep. But I can't. I'm starring at the pitch black wall of my room but the only thing I can see is you.
• we do not grow absolutely, chronologically. we grow sometimes in a dimension but not in the other. we are uneven, rough around the edges; but sharp on the corners. mature in one realm, childish in another. the past present and future mingle bringing us together to make up who we are. we are made up of layers, dimensions, cells, constellations. the stars sparkle in our eyes the sun gleams on the outer edges of our grins and somehow we are existent.
• that's the problem with getting attached to someone.
when they leave you feel lost.. hopeless. that's why I'm a cold person. I can't go about you without the voices in my head telling me that one day, we will be nothing. that's why I can't talk to you.. I can't. I am so sorry for being so mean when I don't mean to be and I'm sorry for telling you I miss you and I'm sorry for writing this shitty poem and I'm sorry for saying sorry too much.
(via excerpts from stories I'll never write)
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From Stories I'll Never Write
Poetry"she flirted with death in an attempt to find a reason to keep living."
