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We sat side by side in the café by my house. You rubbed my knee with yours as I read and you doodled on a spare sheet of paper. Few words were spoken, but much was said. Love isn’t heard, it’s felt. I drank nothing but tea today, and I was in this place a few hours ago. It’s Monday evening and yet, I’m the happiest I’ve been all week. I’ve never felt so loved in my life.
How different and yet the same the world can be after 3 years. Happy (early) Valentines Day.
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People don’t call people like me ‘beautiful’. That was, until you.
This Is New To Me (#121: February 2, 2014)
Written for: anonymous
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I didn’t fall in love with you so that you would love me back. For a while, it was enough. But I’m a person. I am a whole entire being, and I deserve to be loved. And if you can’t do it, somebody better will.
Toxic (#132: February 4, 2014)
Written for: dabysparks
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you will not spend
so much time
and trying to
that you forget,
how much you have always
-Tyler Knott Gregson (via 24ribs
(Source: siscriva, via 24ribs)
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It’s like I’m reading a book… and it’s a book I deeply love. But I’m reading it slowly now. So the words are really far apart and the spaces between the words are almost infinite. I can still feel you… and the words of our story… but it’s in this endless space between the words that I’m finding myself now. It’s a place that’s not of the physical world. It’s where everything else is that I didn’t even know existed. I love you so much. But this is where I am now. And this who I am now. And I need you to let me go. As much as I want to, I can’t live your book any more.
-Her (via quotewhore
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I Need You To Love Me The Way You Do In The Winter
I see the way you look at me in the summer.
The January sun turns my pale skin brown, my hazel eyes green, and my hair a lighter shade of blonde. I look better in the summer than I do in the winter. In the winter, I have mousy grey hair and freckled, moonlit skin. I smile more, too, in the summer. It fills me with simmering warmth, makes me feel young — not in a way so trivially defined by numbers, but in that vivacious brimming-with-infinite-youth kind of way you sometimes see in the movies. It commands me to dance, to run, to laugh out loud, to love unreservedly without my usual inhibitions.
I don’t trust the way you look at me in the summer. You see, as with a seasonal tree or flower, I change as the mid-July clouds roll in. I’ll shrink, not in body but in mind. I’ll retreat, hibernate from the joy of it all, the willingness to be happy. The overcast skies allow it; actively encourage it — the surrender to aloneness.
I’d rather you looked at me then, in the winter: when my stomach grows soft from take-outs and lie-ins, when my laughter isn’t sparked quite so easily. When sadness trickles in, filling my every thought like rain would a long-parched dam.