excerpt from a book i’ll never write #48

"Please, don't worry about hurting me
I have no feelings anyway,"
I said to you with sincerity
As I slid onto the highway.

I told you my heart would never break,
But I slowly hear it shatter.
It turns out that I truly feel an ache
While my tears go pitter-patter.

You asked what makes my heart soar,
And I kissed you in reply.
But to you I only was a bore,
And with that, you said goodbye.

It was her in your arms you longed for.
You might have thought it were clever.
I guess to you we never belonged.
I really hoped we would end up together.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #46

Sometimes people tell us that things are okay even if they don't really mean it but when you whisper it in my ear between kisses after everyone else leaves for the night I somehow believe you might be on to something.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #44

When I was 11 I had a soccer coach who made us run in circles and when we got dizzy he told us to run the other direction to undo the spinning. Imagine the beauty of living in a world where we could just run the other direction every time the world spun in circles; imagine how simple everything would be if we could undo the shit that made us spin in the first place.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #36

Do you ever realize how badly you’re going to miss a moment while you’re living it? Like wow, these are good days. I am here and I am happy and I feel alive, and I’m scared I’m never going to feel alive again.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #34

We must have one love, one great love; it gives us an excuse for all the moments we are filled with despair.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #29

The only thing I know for sure is that the day ends, and the stars will come out and darkness is temporary. But don’t the lights in the sky look so beautiful?

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #28

It was only one night, but his hands running down her back and his lips on her neck seem to be a broken record in her head. It’s not that she misses his smell or the spark of his skin on hers; she craves touch. Any touch. She craves the touch of his arm on hers or their fingers laced. She misses the touch of his breath on her ear as he whispers sweet nothings. But a “he” is just that, and any he will do, and it’s one thing to be alone but another to be lonely. It’s 1:05 in the morning and she’s drunk but he’s the only one on her mind. And him, and him too. Her head spins and her ears are ringing with the words she should have screamed aloud a long time ago, but the worst thing about falling to pieces is that humans do it so quietly. No one hears her heart crack or the soft patter of dripping blood on new, white sheets, and no one can hear her mismatched breaths as she tries to find someone a little better than him. She’s lying in her bed, in her house, and all she wants to do is go home.