I find it comforting how I can remember the lyrics to my old favorite song
and for those 4 minutes in time
I am grateful my brain has picked to remember those meaningful words
instead of the reasons I have almost invisible scars hidden on my wrists
or why I threw up my pride in seventh grade health class
or how I felt for two years of my life.
Because it makes me remember:
heartache is temporary.
and maybe in a few years I’ll be crying over a boy I love
or find my windowsill a little too tempting
and I’ll recall
the lyrics to a Fleetwood Mac song
realizing that one day these lyrics will be more important
than the hurt I’m feeling.
― Lindsay Brooke “Stevie Nicks saved me” 4/12/14 (via siqhing)
12:26 am  •  20 April 2014  •  300 notes

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

― It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via girlchoking)

(Source: extrasad)

12:11 am  •  20 April 2014  •  80,859 notes