"You spit your pain into me when you kissed me and I mistook it for love."- Jesus fuck you broke me. (via jessielou24)
"I can’t make you miss me.- sitting with my family while losing it mentally. (via modifyy)
I can’t make you think about me.
I can’t make you feel anything anymore.
And I’m sorry.
I am so sorry for everything that I have done.
And I’m sorry that I make myself miss you
and I’m sorry that I make myself think about you
because in all honesty I just want you to come back and melt the ice in my heart that formed when you left."
"- Five boys who will eat you alive. (via jessielou24)
1. When the boy you love kisses your neck and try’s to break your ribs so he can fit comfortably in your heart, do not let him. Tie your ribs with steel and tighten them. If he was the one he would never have to break you just to stay.
2. When the boy from the coffee shop sits at your table and starts talking about poetry, and the universe, and your favorite band do not let him under your skin. He will kiss your cheek when it’s cold out and leave you bleeding on the bathroom floor when he kisses the girl he met at the record store.
3. When the boy who looks like the devil himself brings you to bars and buys you a leather jacket, do not let his smoke filled kisses fill you with love. Spit out the vile that is his love and put on your favorite dress. He’ll be gone so quick you’ll think it was all a dream.
4. When the boy with the perfect eyes and trusting smile calls you baby and try’s to go farther than you’re ready push him away. You are filled with the universe, you deserve to be treated like a god damn star not a speck of dirt.
5. When the boy with the messy hair calls you at four in the morning just to tell you that you’re his world and that he loves you so fucking much. Don’t answer. Do not let his words burn into your skin. Because six months later he’ll be gone and you’ll be puking remembering the way his hands felt on your back."
I posted ‘Casual Love’ on this very blog a few months back, and that li’l essay has since gone out into the streets, playing its merry panpipe, and gathered a slew of new readers. In that post, I put forth the notion that romantic love is more common than we typically acknowledge, and that we might as well let the cat out of the bag. Most people who sent me feedback on that concept seem to be love-crazed, cuddle-happy sexpots, like myself. But a few of them are a bit more cautious, and have reservations about the idea of falling in love on the reg, and being bold/careless/stupid enough to admit it out loud. One of the more commonly cited reasons for their ambivalence is this: it might hurt.
As a professional investigator into the field of falling in love, I can say this unequivocally: it does hurt. Falling in love means taking your thin-skinned little muffin heart out of its cushioned case, unwrapping its protective layers of fear, cynicism and irony, and shoving it unceremoniously into rush hour traffic. If you actually admit that you’ve fallen in love, things get worse. Even in the statistically unlikely scenario that it goes well (e.g.: the love is mutual and kind and fulfilling and long-lasting), your smooshy, gushy heart will not survive the ordeal unscathed. At risk of plagiarizing the Everly Brothers (or, God forbid, Nazareth): love hurts, folks. Like a motherfucker.
But before you burn your dance card, let me pose one question: what’s wrong with getting hurt?