I taught myself to stand alone
To hold my own hand
Not to need someone’s hands around me
To brush my own hair

But now i find myself high on the idea of you
What it would be like
To have you standing by my side
How would it feel with your hands holding mine
The warmth of your body around mine
And the feeling of your fingers through my hair.

Thats why i hate you so much
You made me question things
I wanted to bury six-feet under
And never dig open
But i can’t help allowing it.


"He’s not mine," she said. "And I don’t think he ever will be."

"And maybe that’s a good thing because things are never how you imagine and having expectations only ever sets you up for disappointment."

"But I can’t help but wonder what lying in his arms would be like," she told the sky, "I can’t help but imagine being close enough to feel his breath on mine and his skin on my skin."

She closed her eyes and felt the wind run it’s fingers through her hair, and imagined he was beside her.

"He’s going to kill me you know," she whispered to the moon,"he’s going to commit murder and the worst part is he won’t even know it."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #43 (via blossomfully)