Out Of My Collection - Tumblr Posts

Love is so large for me that it transcends all rules. I have often looked at my difficulty to decipher romantic and platonic feelings as a fault, but it is not. On the contrary, it is one of my biggest strengths. I love so loudly, so deeply, so truly…the lines between friendship and romantic love blur so easily. No matter what the nature of our relationship happens to be, my love for you remains undying, unconditional, entirely loyal, and undefinable. Love, for me, is bigger than love. It is faith, it is holiness, it is the divine, it is life.

I always think: I want too much. I crave something so real and so certain and so magical, I need more than what is offered to me. I cannot settle in this life. I need. I need. I need.

But then, I see you. Then, I think: I would be happy for a simple life. I would need nothing more than to spend a life in your arms. I would sacrifice everything for you. I would give up anything if it meant I could see you smile. And it would be enough. I am certain of it.

She is an angel. I am sure of it. I was so close to death, toeing the line, drifting further and further into the darkness with each passing day. You could hardly tell the difference between me and a ghost. My body was fading along with my life. But then, I saw her face. I looked into her eyes which restored my pale skin to a fruitful, revitalized color. I felt her skin, warm and beating, against mine, and I felt alive again. Maybe more alive than I had ever been from the start. I heard her voice, filled with the rarest, truest essence of life, something that could not be found in anyone else. Her laughter—the sweetest, most wild sound that filled any room it embodied—made me whole again. made me holy again. She restored me, she made me alive. She created me.

The hole is part of you. You cannot fill it. You can fill in the space around it, but you cannot fill the hole.

But if you bleed long enough, you start to miss the taste of your blood. You crave the metal in the back of your throat. You want it bad. You want the pain bad.

Who’s loneliness is up manifesting itself as a prolonged, deep pain in their chest?

I cannot do it anymore. I cannot open my heart to the darkness of the world. What hurts more than anything is that I know this is not true. I know that I will. I will let someone see my soul again. I will lay myself out bare for them to see. They will rip me apart. It will hurt bad. I will bleed all over. I know all of this. I wish I meant it when I say I cannot do it again. I wish I could abstain. I wish I was not so hungry. But I am starving, and I must eat.

Every single month I am like “wow why am I going insane? I actually want to k*ll myself. I cannot be alive. I cannot do anything. I am the loneliest person in the entire universe.” And then I look at my tracker and it’s like “period in 1 day”

Love is consumption. Love devours. Love eats. The allure of someone takes up my entire life, fills in all of the empty space and clears out what was already there too. I do not see anyone, I see the object of my desire. I want, I want, I want. It takes so much out of me. Desire, for me, is enormous. It hurts. I stop breathing. My heart pumps blood more slowly. Love takes over my body like some sort of parasite. It takes and takes and takes until I am empty, dissolving into nothing.

I starve. I become emaciated. Don’t you understand? I only long for what cannot fulfill me. I only crave what cannot feed me.

you laugh and I laugh and it is holy. to me this is religious, this joyous energy that exists between your body and mine. I want it, I crave it, it lifts me up, it gets me high. I raise my hands up to the sky and praise whoever created you each time I see your haunting smile. we sit and we talk and your knee is touching mine. I do not move and you do not move because we are friends. you are my friend. except…I move a little closer. I want more, I need more, I feel the pull and I cannot resist. I am sorry, I always want more.

darling, I am no good. your smile is brighter than mine could ever be. I have little light left inside of me, and what is left burns only for you. It is not enough for you. you deserve a brighter light, a deeper fire, something warmer. go on, darling, forget my name. If you can, tell me just how bad I am on your way out. make it easier for me, baby. you will never see me again. I hope your life is warmer than mine. I hope you can finally escape this cold.

my heart is filled with such deep, irrevocable desire for you. for your delicate touch, for your angelic voice, for the light in your eyes. desire, desire, desire. such a light and romantic word. it does the real thing no justice. desire is enormous, expansive, cannibalistic, consuming. I love you to the point of destruction. I want for you so much that it kills me—do you understand? I eat my heart.

Cracks of sunlight peak through the stormy, monstrous clouds. I stroll along the sidewalk, a ladybug crawling up my arm. hello little guy, I say, you are safe. I am not sure if the same can be said for me. I am alone in this world—lost and afraid. As I stroll through the once familiar sidewalks of my hometown, I feel as though I am out of place. I do not know where I am. I do not know how to get home. I am looking for god, I tell the ladybug. the little guy does not respond. neither does god.

I told you I liked you. I did. I cry these words out like a hungry, starving baby. the wails echo for years. you never forget that sound. you told me that you don’t remember me saying that, telling you. I think long and hard. It must have been a dream, I say, I must have forgotten. I always forget.

I sit in the back, stealing glances of you in each moment I can. I stare at your back for hours. Your hair, your neck, your freckles, your skin. The longing is coming off of my body like a stench, like something so unbearably gross that you have to step away. I love you. I love your hair and your neck and your freckles and your skin. I will watch you like this for hours. I will stare at your back for days. If you smell what I am smelling, don’t mention it. Please. This longing is just for me. I am sorry, friend. I want more from you than what we have.

I shake and shake and shake. You walk next to me, body next to body. Our arms lightly brush as our arms sway at our sides. I tremble and tremble and tremble. Your hand—it’s blood-filled, tender, lovely skin— is right there. So close. So, so close. I could almost reach out and grab it. I could nearly take it in mine. I could easily fill the space between our bodies. We continue walking. I don’t do it. I restrain myself. My hand longs for yours so desperately, but I make sure to tell it no. I keep it in my pocket. It won’t cause us trouble anymore.

My heart shudders as you mention your ex. Your ex boyfriend, you say. I still have hope. Some people like both. But part of me knows: you will never see me that way. When you told me, I was looking at your lips. Not looking—longing at them, desiring at them. I want them. I want your lips, I want your flesh, I want you. I force myself to look away. Where else can I look? It can’t be you. It can’t be at you. Every part of you makes me want you the same. I leave the room slowly. I can’t ever be near you again. I am sorry, my dearest friend. I wish I could hear you talking without looking at your lips. I wish I could be your friend without wanting your kiss.

I know what you want and I’ll be it for you. I’ll be your man. I can be your man. I can be firm and tough. I can be your rock, I can be the one you lean on. I know I’ve got long hair, but I’ll cut it if you want. If it’s not enough, I’ll come back in another life. I’ll come back for you. In another form, the type that you want. I will cross time and death and the rules of society and whatever else it takes to reach you again. To love you again. This time, I’ll do it in the way I always wanted to.

No, I don’t care that you’re messy and loud and sometimes annoying. I love you anyhow. Come over tonight. I will cook for you in the kitchen—it’s green tiles and the sun that peaks in through the windows. Come as you are. Leave your hair messy and your skin blank and your body cloaked in plain clothing. I find you most beautiful in that state—natural, beating, tender, alive. I will make us soup in my cleanest pot. It will be steaming and hot, but not too hot that it burns. I will love you enough for it to always keep you warm, but never in such a way that it hurts.