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"You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."
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"Only as high as I reach can I grow, only as far as I seek can I go, only as deep as I look can I see, only as much as I dream can I be."
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"The emotion that can break your heart is sometimes the very one that heals it…"
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"Just because one person’s problem is less traumatic than another’s doesn’t mean they’re required to hurt less."
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"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot."
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"Don’t tell them too much about your soul. They’re waiting for just that."
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"I need to know that you still feel an ache in your chest when you hear someone say my name."
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"The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one’s own."
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"The first draft is just you telling yourself the story."
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"This would be hard
for you if you were weak
but you’re not weak."
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It happened slowly,
but we finally
decided that happiness
is the part of the
movie where everything tragic happens
but everyone moves on anyway.
So meet me underneath the same sky
that bled with your heart
once you realized no one was coming
back for you after all,
and let’s look for the stars that stayed.
I’ll name them after the moment
I found you.
My robin song,
my springtime siren.
I’ll love you until I forget how to.
And then I’ll fall like my knees aren’t already bruised
from doing it,
and I’ll remember why you’re
worth the ache.
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"Some friends don’t understand this. They don’t understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you’re wonderful just the way you are. They don’t understand that I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would."
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"Don’t make up a separate me."
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"He calls me a whore, a slut, he says I’m his only love, and that’s what he ought to say, and what you do say when you just let things say themselves, when you let the body alone, to seek and find and take what it likes, and then everything is right, and nothing’s wasted, the waste is covered over and all is swept away in the torrent, in the force of desire. I asked him to do it again and again. Do it to me. And he did, did it in the unctuousness of blood. And it really was unto death. It has been unto death."
Reblog Post — 197 notes