Sometimes I Cry Because Of Happiness, There’s Rare Moments In My Life Where Melancholy Isn’t The

you’ve ruined 11:11 for me

I am too good at loving the villain, romanticising the devil. maybe this is why I always searched for monsters under my bed, ready to invite him in.

maybe all this time, the monster under my bed was you. I was destined for nothing other than a fire love, torture. this is why your pain does not scare me. I was born to love your darkness and fed you my light.

come on my love, I will hide under the bed with you forever.

I’m almost glad that I didn’t get to taste you in the way I long nothing but desire,

Your lips would’ve been the way I left this world

Who wouldn’t thought that something so soft could be something so tormenting.

- cat lover ! 

gonna have to prepare myself for the "we all owe taylor an apology" when reputation tv comes out and people finally listen and understand the album..like no..I don't owe taylor an apology, YOU do x

saving 18.

It’s the year 2030, 23:55pm October 17th. I’m 25 as sit by the window in my studio apartment that is hidden away by the blinding lights and skyscraper buildings in New York City. The sky is dark, the stars are visible, and the moon is a perfect crescent shape. My window glass in covered in small raindrops and for once, the loudest city has become nothing more than a hum.

The washing machine is running and the flowers I bought from Lucies flower shop two days ago have died.

The hot chocolate I made is resting just near my foot, the microwave broke a week ago, so I had no choice but to use boiling kettle water.

Delilah my tabby cat who I self-adopted on 8th street two years ago when I first moved to the city sits right in front of me. Admiring the city, I grew up loving so much.

The clock, which seems to be the only working thing in this apartment, hangs low not in the centre and too far to the left side, on the wall near my front door now reads 23:58pm.

A sigh leaves my lips. 120 seconds and you’re turning 24 somewhere.

Slowly I remove myself from the windowsill and tiptoe over to the kitchen, floorboards creaking under my steps. Opening the fridge to the cupcakes I bought three days ago in Mary’s bakery just right of Cornelia Street, I set them down on the kitchen counter. Admiring the chocolate goodness that sits before. The ones I’ve stopped myself from messaging and telling you about. You always loved my chocolate cupcakes when I made them, would you believe me if I told you I found ones better? Opening the draw, I pull out a pack of candles, the perfect shade of light ocean blue. Just like your eyes. Picking up the lighter also alongside of them. It’s been eight years, and still, I love you no less.

Placing the candle, on top of one of the cupcakes, I light it. The clock now reads 23:59pm. One minute my love, I whisper to myself.

00:00am. Taking the cupcake in my hand I tiptoe back over to the windowsill.

“Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whoever you’re in love with. I hope you’re happy and I hope you’re safe. Happy 24th birthday.”

Blowing out the candle with a shaky breath, I felt a tear prickle and slide down my face.

On June 24th at 16:53, you messaged me for the very time saying “heyo” and we made some jokes. A couple days later we somehow ended up sharing the music room together at school.

You played the guitar and I glazed my fingers over the keyboard, too nervous to play, too scared to fail you. Music moves so smooth when you play it.

We spoke all the time after that, until we didn’t anymore and you went away.

I remember the way you sang that night at your house, how you told me I was beautiful after you saw me in a way no human ever had before. How it felt believable coming out of your mouth.

It was a different kind of love this time around, you made me feel… different. I don’t know where you are now, or who you’re in love with but I hope you’re happy. And I hope that in some way, you think of me the way I think of you.

lemon boy...

and tonight when you’re out with your friends, and you find your way into a girls arms, and you kiss her. I hope you pause, remembering the last words you said to me. I hope after that, you tell her you can’t go on with it anymore, and I hope you think of me, and you start to wish things went differently. And maybe that is really selfish of me and cruel to rather you miss me than be so good at forgetting, and maybe for the first time in my life I don’t care about being selfish, because all I care about is the thought of you with someone else and how it tears my stomach into pieces.

I hope when I grow up I’m still the same person I am now.

I hope I still find joy in the different colours of the sky

I hope I still see love as one of the most beautiful thing in the world.

I hope my heart still stays kind.

I hope I still find peace is helping the homeless, seeing kids smile, believing in God.

I hope the sound of the rain is still my favourite sound and I never not see the beauty when the sky pours it’s own melancholy.

I hope art is still the only thing I know.

I hope New York still holds my heart right in-between it’s big city lights

Remembering how free it made me feel when I saw them for the first time when I was 13. And the fleeing moment when they stole my heart on the TV screen when I was 3.

I hope cats are still my favourite animals, that by the time I’m 60 I have at least 100.

I hope Disney movies are still my security every night I feel alone, and that chocolate is still my favourite thing to eat into after a bad breakup.

And that I never forget the dances to grease, that I’m still alive to watch my husband dance with my daughter to the songs as me and my father used to do when I was younger.

That country music is still the only way to understand any kind of hurt and conflict in my life.

I hope I never lose my love for Christmas and Halloween. That every year I get to decorate my house with too many lights and big Christmas trees. And that I get to give the kids extra candy and become the favourite house to trick and treat to.

That every time I pass a park with monkey bars I will still try it, knowing I’ll fail but hoping that I will at least get past one.

I hope when I grow up I’m still the same person I am now.

I hope I never grow up.

sometimes the people we want forever aren’t always the people that want us forever, and that’s okay.

the more I grow older, the more I realise, poets are liars. missing someone is not a romanticise ghost that haunts the corner of my room. It’s not remembering the smell with the flashes of good memories resurfacing . it’s hearing someone that sounds like them and your throat catching and then suddenly you’re unable to speak. It’s smelling what they used to smell like, and an uneasy amount of home sick rises up to your stomach and all of a sudden it pours out. It’s going to bed with a drowned pillow because the moment you close your eyes, they’re there. Picture perfect, as clears as day. the way they felt burns your body from the inside out. failing in love with someone is like the loving the devil, you’re lucky if you’re anything but a pawn in his silly little game.