Don’t let people treat you like a cigarette, they only use you when they’re bored and step on you when they’re done. Be like drugs, let them die for you.
It’s weird to say that I am over you
I do not believe that people can ever get over someone that they once loved
Because, every so often, I’ll get flashbacks of you and I together
Or I will see strangers on the street that, I swear, look exactly like you
And some nights, when I am really lonely, I almost pick up the phone to call you
And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being safe in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.
Kind of people that I wanna be around.
But more importantly, it pains me to see that you don’t value yourself the way other people value you. You don’t know that you are a catch. Like, I bet this whole idea has never even occurred to you. You could read this entire article and not once think it was about you. It would surprise you that I’ve heard other women be jealous of you. It would shock you to know that men talk about how magnetic and radiant you are. It wouldn’t even cross your mind that these things could happen.
Beyond that though, you are wonderful and lovely. And you have no idea.
I look at the sky, and I see blue. You lift your eyes and see the same, but I wonder, is your blue the same as mine? Perhaps my blue is your blood red, and your skies are always crimson. My pain may be your laughter. My sour, your sweet. My love, your hate. What do you feel when you feel love? I want to feel your taste, your sex, your hunger, your tears. Perhaps above all, I want to feel what you feel when you feel mine.
And I understand. I understand why people hold hands: I’d always thought it was about possessiveness, saying ‘This is mine’. But it’s about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about I want you with me and don’t go.
A year ago I would’ve never guessed life would be the way it is now.
Wrote this today, hope you like it! ♥ Also, please remember to pre-order a copy of my new book Lullabies, available at all major bookstores. To get a special discount now, purchase online at Amazon, BN.com and The Book Depository. So much love to you all! xo Lang
I love you, but I hate you. I miss you, but I’m better off without you. I want you out of my life, but I never want to let you go.
The best portion of your life will be the small, nameless moments you spend smiling with someone who matters to you.
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