over a year ago I had a partner that convinced me that I was two different people. that when I was with them I was a beautifully mysterious girl and when I was in public I was a completely different person. they had me convinced that I was being brainwashed by my best friend and that I could do better, that I wasn’t the person they “loved” almost eighty-five percent of the time.
it took me almost three months to realize that I was a person outside of that relationship. that I was actually being brainwashed by them and I was a beautiful mysterious girl always and I am one person.
every person I’ve ever been with had a different bone to pick with me, and never was that picked bone, that I didn’t love enough.
I kept telling myself that at one point you did feel the same for me as I felt for you. I thought if I showed you how much I cared and helped you whenever you needed it, you’d remember how you used to feel. But there was a flaw in my plan because you never felt that, and that’s okay.
This situation made my brain feel like I owed you something. That isn’t right because you left me, I didn’t leave you. And I here I am, almost a month later and I’m still drowning in what we had. I thought you knew that. I thought you knew that by me being around you I was sinking further.
It’s time to move on, I can’t be around you anymore. You hurt me so bad and you will never understand that. I was just a fling to you, your feelings were made up in your head, derived from your past. You were everything to me. I should’ve known I’d get my karma, but if I was warned I would have done it all anyway.
Needless to say, this move in May is going to be incredible. I’m starting my life now and I’m moving on. I’m sorry the timing is so horrible, but I did everything I could for you.
I feel like if you got to know me, you’d probably like me. I have pushed so many people away that I can count my closest friends on my fingers. I’m putting myself out there again, I’m over this shell.
There were always warning signs but you were blinded by hope and and thoughts like, 'Maybe this time it'll be different'. You chose to stay inside a burning building until the smoke became too thick to clear and the foundation began to crack. But now it was time to get yourself out.
No one tells you, though, that trying to move on is a kind of death that you inflict upon yourself. People always make it sound so easy, as if by emptying the stuff in your house, you can empty yourself of the love you still feel.
The memories you have like to coddle you. Laughter and late nights drunk on the feeling of being young and infatuated. They deposited in you the way sand deposits onto wet summer skin. They stick on you in the most unconventional places, underneath fingernails and knobby knees. But you let them stay because it reminds you of how you were once in the water and the sun was beating on your neck.
You now know that was how you ruin yourself.
Before the word us turned into something singular, everything had already changed. You look back, really look back, and you see that he is not the same. And neither are you. So you release the fists clenching onto the past and you take off your rose-colored glasses.
You used to mistake the silhouette on the wall for yourself. Used to think of yourself as a stray cat scratching on his door, waiting to be let in again. Not anymore.
It takes time for you to realize that your life with him is not juxtaposed. It’s not as simple as a before and after. He is just a detour on your journey. The destination is still there, waiting for you.
When you finally let go, it is like opening your front door and seeing yourself standing there again.
Welcome home, it’s been so long.
written by Tina Tran, The art of letting go (via wowthing)
The rape joke is that at the time,
you didn’t know people had sex to express love.
The rape joke is that the only other person
who’d seen you naked was your mom.
The rape joke is that he called you ‘beautiful’ first.
The rape joke is that he held your hands together
and told you to ‘try harder’ when you struggled.
The rape joke is that you believed him
when he told you were overreacting.
The rape joke is that your grandma
called him a nice boy and asked him to stay for dinner.
The rape joke is that he winked at you
when you apologized to your parents for not coming
downstairs the first time you were called.
The rape joke is that his friends
high-fived him for “getting some.”
The rape joke is that you still don’t feel like
you’ve regrown the pieces he stole.
The rape joke is that he was conceived when his
dad slapped himself into his snoring mother.
The rape joke is that her friends told her
she was lucky someone wanted her.
The rape joke is that each year in the United States,
32,000 other women’s bellies
ripen with life against their will.
The rape joke is that he never learned
to touch without scarring.
The rape joke is that your classmate thinks
‘have you seen what asses look like in yoga pants?’
is an argument.
The rape joke is your new boyfriend kissing
you and telling you he ‘raped’ his math test.
The rape joke is that ‘Why are girls so scared of rape? Y’all should feel pride that a guy risked his life in jail just to fuck you’
is a popular Tweet right now.
The rape joke is that you wake up to
the memory of him laughing,
“now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The rape joke is that it’s been twelve years and
you still quiver when someone touches you.
The rape joke is that he hasn’t stopped laughing.
The rape joke is that you forgot how to.
written by The Rape Joke | Lora Mathis
Inspired by this. (via mysheets-stainedwithyou)
I’m really missing you tonight and it’s burning in the back of my throat.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth.
Reorganizing my room and I’m sweating so bad wtf is this weather? Thank goddess I’m going to Tybee on Thursday.
January 16th 2013
Dear “you,” that’s what I’ve been referring to you in the poems I write at 3 in the morning. I still can’t say your name. I hope you know that I stopped breathing when you told me you didn’t love me anymore. I hope you know that your words could burn holes through my skin. You could make stars fall from the sky. You could kill me. You could end the world with the way you speak. I hope you come back soon. I’m starting to get lightheaded. I miss you I miss you. I’m so sorry.
February 3rd 2013
my letter must’ve gotten lost in the mail and that’s why you haven’t responded. That’s what I keep telling myself but I know it’s not true. I know you read it. I’ve seen it a million times in my head. You just got home from school and you’re sitting on your bed listening to The Strokes, ignoring the fact that they were my favorite band, and your mother comes upstairs and hands you my letter and you leave it on your bedside table, the one that you hide your cigarettes in, and you glance over at it a few times before you finally decide to read it. and your eyes skim over at it and your head starts to hurt a little, but not enough to make a difference, not enough to make you love me again. I wish you would write back. I’m tired of writing letters to a ghost.
April 19th 2013
You called me last night. Oh god. Your voice. I missed your voice. You were slurring your words when you asked how I’ve been and I tried to keep my hands from shaking. I swear to god when you told me you missed me I felt my heart slam into my ribs. I almost passed out. I think I’m going crazy. I still love you. Every part of me still loves you. Your name is always stuck in my throat and I keep your smile under my fingertips and I can’t forget you. I tried to swallow pills to get you out but I just got dizzy. I tried to wash my hands with vodka but it didn’t work.
September 4th 2013
I kissed a boy last night. He tasted like sugar and he grabbed my hips and I liked it a lot. I don’t miss you anymore.
September 5th 2013
I still miss you like crazy.
October 17th 2013
My mom told me to stop writing to you. She says I’ll never move on if I’ve always got you on the tip of my tongue and I’m spending too much on stamps. I don’t want to taste you anymore so this is my last letter.
October 17th 2013
November 9th 2013
I was over you until I held hands with the boy who lives down the street and tasted glass in my mouth. Jesus fuck you’re in my veins and bleeding out can’t fix me. I’ve tried.
January 16th 2014
I can say your name now.
written by letters to the boy who broke my heart (via extrasad)
Perhaps we’ll find each other later,
when we aren’t two kids
scrambling to find a home.
Maybe we’ll intersect again,
with new collections
of memories and dreams
tied to our ankles,
searching for someone
to lighten to burden.
And maybe, just maybe,
next time the
I-love-yous will be real,
instead of muttered hopes
that left our lips bloodstained.
written by Emily Palermo, I’ll See You in Five Years (via starredsoul)
there is nothing worse than polaroiding every thing that will remind me of you. how empty green fields open my eyes to fantasies that used to be plans, my thoughts screeching in the background, don’t put your arm around me on your front porch, your living room couch
somewhere there is a script for every past love, psychiatrist’s legal pads filled with paragraphs of repeated sentences and ticks (where I just can’t stop touching my fingertips) because I’d rather be touching you
it takes more than a hopeless romantic to save someone who isn’t stable, whose emotions can make the worst of them, they need someone who can hold them down and scream that they’re worth more than a golden ticket, they’re prettier than the brightest tulips, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you weren’t that, if I was in pain you closed your eyes