Honey with you is the only honest way to go

You are imperfect and you are wired for struggle but you are worthy of love and belonging.

Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.

You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.

You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.

You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.

—Some things are better left unsaid.  (via homowrecked)

(Source: poppyflowerpoetry, via innocent-emptyness)

The worst part was that you loved me. You loved me so much, more than anything or anyone you’d ever loved before. But not as much as I’d loved you. Never as much as I’d loved you.

—Not Quite (#220: March 2, 2014)

(Source: write2014, via innocent-emptyness)

You do care. You care so much it’s eating you away. You hate the fact that you care so much but it’s the only thing you know how to do but you constantly lie to yourself just so you can get through the day.

//12:06// (via ladiscutee)

every day of my life

(via pints-full-of-ice-cream)

(via innocent-emptyness)