"People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a Tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up. And the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands."
- Rosie Scanlan, “On Missing Them” (via itsalovelyfebruary)

(via prettyhandsomeawkard)

I wore Adidas shorts and a Nike t-shirt the other day, hoping that you could somehow sense I was doing it and message me from an ocean away, telling me how I shouldn’t wear two different sports brands in the same outfit.
You found annoyance when people committed that act, almost like a sin, and I would’ve used that to start a conversation. 

Someone asked if I knew you today and a part of me wanted to walk away without answering but the more dominant part of me replied with, “Yeah, I used to.” And that’s the thing. I used to know who you were.

The days of warm blankets and holding hands in the car are gone and to some extent, sometimes I feel like they never happened. Those days were too good.
Sometimes I find myself hoping you never happened either. 

I hate how people constantly ask if I’m okay. Am I supposed to be waking up crying? These days, I’m too bitter to cry.  
However, I DID cry when his mouth didn’t taste like your’s.
I should feel bad for him, but I don’t.
I ran to my car when reality sank in and I drove the way you used to take me home. I hate driving that direction, but it brought me the conversations I’ll never get back and for a second I didn’t feel so alone. I was supposed to be okay with moving on. I was supposed to move on. That’s what you wanted of me and I couldn’t even do that.

I’m learning though. I drove past the local gun shop and I didn’t even turn my head to look. I went into Starbucks and I didn’t even linger at the place you held my hand and talked to your best friend about me over the smell of vanilla and hazelnut. 
I go to the park often to run out my frustrations, but I refuse to sit at the picnic table we sat at almost a year ago. When you told me that maybe I shouldn’t wait for you. 
But I did. I waited. 
I guess I could thank the Marine Corps for teaching me the most important lesson I’ve learned thus far.

Like I said, I’m still learning. Our pictures are packed up and replaced. For a few weeks there, all I did was put the frame face-down and thought that would solve my problems but I found myself lifting it up every morning and I just couldn’t do it anymore. 
It’s not that I got rid of you. I’m just learning to become strong without the thought you interrupting me every damn day.

Our conversations are stupid. Short and stupid. About things I talk to a stranger about. School, work, the weather, the family. Small talk. But I’ve accepted that I won’t get another “thinking about you” message. I should be grateful I’m even getting a message but I’m not. I’m not grateful. 
Your messages are just ways of making me feel content with us not quite being an us anymore. What a fucking reminder.

Sometimes I wonder if you read all of my letters. The ones I wrote to lift your head during tough times. The ones I wrote when our relationship was getting rocky and the distance was getting the best of us. The ones I put my emotions into and thought that maybe you’d read them and remember why. A part of me hopes you threw them out. A part of me wants to take them all back but the other part of me wants you to keep everything.

Maybe I am putting all my focus into work and school. 
But maybe that’s what I should have been doing for a long time anyway.

This is me letting go.

me when it starts getting cloudy: yeees

me when it starts raining: yeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS

Me: people on here are so extra its pathetic

Me: *sees hot person*

Me: PLEASE spit in and around my eyeball until the only thing i can see are the molecules making up your saliva i want it to soak into my cornea and become a part of me UNF


I hope when you die you get to see your stats like how many times you laughed or told a lie or kissed or how many people loved you and how many people hated you and what you meant to people

(via astound)