You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep
And I don’t believe you when you tell me that my voice is your favorite sound,
Not when you can sing like that.
One of your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee
And the other one burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you
But how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers,
So if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours,
They would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors
And very bad at telling people how I feel
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March
and even though I’m sick of winter,
I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard.
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.Zora Neale Hurston (via larmoyante)
You’ll remember me in the morning, and you’ll come to me, and you’ll tell me about us, and we’ll start overEternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (via alonesomes)
We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.Carson McCullers (via apoetreflects)
I know who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass. (via foliefleur)