Love is something that happens to you. You don’t necessarily invite it in.
I don’t like working out of any kind. Not the body or the heart. Just thinking about working things out makes me tired.
Because if they’re right about their belief system, there is an ultimate judge anyway, isn’t there? We don’t need human judges.
You choose to believe them, because you need to.
Her pain was so jagged. You couldn’t touch her without it slicing through you too. I wanted to fold myself around her and absorb the rest of the blows life would deliver.
And I know I’m wearing a slutty dress, and my hair is a mess, and people are looking at me. But they can’t see my heart.
I wondered what I kissed him with since I was only broken parts.
Do you speak Parseltongue?
She walked like a woman who knew she had the world staring at her breasts.
It’s like jumping backwards into a snowdrift and not knowing how deeply you’re going to sink.
It’s become a cycle we’re unfortunately comfortable with. The longer you stay in an unhealthy relationship, the more druglike it becomes. You’re willing to deal with the side effects because they’re predictable. You can trust the bad in a way you can’t trust the unknown.
Shunned by association.
How does a guy tell his girlfriend he has no idea who she is? Who he himself is? He doesn’t tell her. He pretends, just like he’s been pretending with everyone else. – Silas Nash.
Their story will never be over. She’s married, you know? So, technically you have some time to make your husband fall in love with you.
I find a job; I go back to being me. I don’t remember my dreams anymore.
Let the heart breaking commence.
I want you, English. I think about you all the time – no – scratch that. I obsess over you all the time. You’re my muse. Wasn’t that the deal? You’re worth every penny.
I’m folding my emotions like a piece of paper – a tiny square, into a tiny square, into a tiny square. When they’re folded up enough I can leave them in a corner of my mind somewhere, to be forgotten.
The seasons split at the seams: spring, summer, fall and winter. I’ve always pictured them as giant sacks filled with air and color and smell. When it’s time for one season to be over, the next seasons splits open and pours over the world, drowning its tired and waning predecessor with its strength.
My heart is asleep. We.