Next time someone says to you, ‘if I were you’, stop them and say ‘well you aren’t’
I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
You will fall in love with someone who’s cold and always seemingly pushing you away. When all is said and done, they will be forever known as the one person you couldn’t get to love you. Unfortunately, it will hurt and sting worse than the good ones, the ones that chopped up your meat for you and picked out an eyelash from your eye and were nice to your mother, because love often feels like a game we need to win.
I could start fires with what I feel for you.
You can find the original artist here. Please don’t remove her artist link. She’s an acquaintance of mine (I’ve admired her art for a while, but I met her officially when I made this Tumblr), and it pisses me off when people erase links to selfishly ~stylize~ their blog.
There’s a light in you and it makes me never fear the darkness in me.
Want that. Want that. Want that.
I CANNOT THINK OF A SINGLE THING I WANT.
I think once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re fucked.