I find myself perched against you
too often, head cocked like robins
listening for worms. I’m listening
for hope, I’m trying to capture
reassurance. We need to stop playing
Schrödinger – I haven’t heard
movement for days and it’s getting
ridiculous. Alright, one more night.
One more conversation where I don’t
ask the important questions. I listen
so intently that I hear my own heart
beating and think it’s yours. I’ll
hold onto this for days and make
more excuses for the smell. I
wonder if it’s possible for me to
be alive enough for both of us.

anne, we’re done aren’t we? (via anneisrestless)

(via vodkakilledtheteens)

The axe forgets; the tree remembers.

African proverb (via istruggleandemerge)

(Source: journalofanobody, via annabananaberries)

I hope they ask about me and I hope you tell them you fucked up.

(via halluzinogen)

(Source: flyingwithoutwings21, via liveforyesterday)

I loved you head over handles
like my first bicycle accident—
before the mouthful of gravel and blood,
I swore we were flying.

Sierra DeMulder (via counting-airplanes)

(Source: oofpoetry, via babyletyourfantasiesunwind)

I’m not angry at you, but I’m mad at myself for expecting something better from people. I hate leaving myself so vulnerable.

Someone who finally decided to place their trust in another (via up-roar)

(via killingmeharshly)

You have a place in my heart no one else ever could have.

Fiitzgerald, F. Scott. The Ice Palace. (via wordsnquotes)

(via babyletyourfantasiesunwind)