As humans, we waste the shit out of our words. It’s sad. We use words like “awesome” and “wonderful” like they’re candy. It was awesome? Really? It inspired awe? It was wonderful? Are you serious? It was full of wonder? You use the word “amazing” to describe a goddamn sandwich at Wendy’s. What’s going to happen on your wedding day, or when your first child is born? How will you describe it? You already wasted “amazing” on a fucking sandwich.
I asked you to tell me about her and you asked me what I wanted to know and that’s when I knew you didn’t really love her. Because if you loved her then you would’ve told me about how her eyes light up when she laughs and she bites her lip when she’s sad. You would’ve told me about the way her teeth remind you of those glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on your ceiling when you were little and the way her voice wraps around your bones and keeps you from shaking. You would’ve told me about the tips of her fingers and the way sunshine pours from her mouth. You would’ve told me about how she even looks pretty when she cries and the way she hides behind her hair. You would’ve told me about the way you want to live inside her ribcage and fall asleep in the crook of her neck. You would’ve told me that she tastes like the entire galaxy and she speaks in poetry. You would’ve told me that the sound of her breath while she sleeps is your new favorite song. You would’ve told me about how she’s in your blood and the way she’s got so much love in her veins that if you cut her open, you swear flowers would grow from inside of her. You would’ve told me about the way you love her, like I love you.
― I heard you got a new girlfriend (via extrasad)
How can I tell,” said the man, “that the past isn’t a fiction designed to account for the discrepancy between my immediate physical sensations and my state of mind?
― Douglas Adam, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (via whyallcaps)
It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it and they love you and you know it but it’s a party and you’re both talking to other people and you’re laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes. But not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life and it’s funny and sad but only because this life will end and it’s this secret world that exists right there. In public. Unnoticed. That no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.
Strange how we decorate pain.