Flowers in your hair

When we were younger we thought everyone was on our side, then we grew a little and romanticized the time i saw flowers in your hair.

1. When I was little, my mother told me that my ribs are there to protect my heart. It turns out you can break ribs pretty easily. They shatter the second you press too hard or meet a boy with pretty eyes who leaves your skin burning and kisses your neck. My heart is not in very good condition.

2. My freshman year of high school I read this book over and over again. I remember one line talked about how love can save you. The author forgot to mention that it can also tear you apart and fuck you up beyond repair.

3. I broke my fingers trying to pick the lock to your heart.

4. Apparently vodka isn’t the solution to everything because after the fifth shot, the only word I managed to slur was your name.

5. You know those dumb depression commercials where they show some women and there’s a black cloud following her around and it gets bigger and bigger and swallows her whole until she finally takes some fucking medication? You’re my cloud. You’re hanging over my head and swallowing me whole but pills won’t make you go away, trust me, I’ve tried.

6. It turns out words can physically hurt. They can leave you clutching at your chest and shaking. They can leave you empty. They can twist around your body and cut off your blood circulation. I learned that when you told me you didn’t love me anymore.

7. I’m not yours anymore but god I wish I was.

8. Things fall apart. Things get messy. Most of the time you can put them back together but sometimes pieces get lost and you sit there puncturing your chest with little bits of yourself but nothing fits right and suddenly there’s blood everywhere.

9. Nervous breakdowns aren’t cute.

10. Boys don’t kiss you because they love you. They kiss you because they want to taste you. I hope I’m still on the tip of your tongue. I’d do anything to get you off of mine.

11. Heartbreak is not beautiful. It’s not tasting him in your cigarettes or empty beds in lovely little hotels. It’s not rainy afternoons where the air wraps around you the way he did or cups of coffee the color of his eyes. It’s just a lot of shaking and crying and hyperventilating and blood.

12. When the fuck does it stop hurting?

—12 texts I never sent  (via extrasad)

(via harmed)