They say that if a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die.
But no one talks about what happens when you break a writer’s heart.
How this gift of immortality becomes their curse.
How they keep you alive in their poetry even while it kills them.
How they recreate the crime scene on paper.
Words spread out like map coordinates
Looking for where things went wrong.
Writing down the word ‘forever’ and
Wondering how those three syllables sounded like an eternity when you said it.
Every poem they write is a sketch of your face; as if their pen only knows how to make posters of the people they miss; each full stop a reminder of your freckles; each semicolon an image of your sideways smile and the dimple under your cheek.
Every poem is just ‘I still love you’ written in code.
Every poem is a letter unsent; because if hearts were mailboxes you wouldn’t have one.
Every poem is an attempt to soothe the ache in their left chest; to let inked words bleed instead; to shrink the memories into sentences.
Every poem is the Heimlich maneuver;
so they write until the words locked in their throats fly out like freed birds and bruised lungs can finally taste oxygen again.
"I don’t know how you have come so far in your lives. You have reached this step of seeing everybody else stepping into the world they wish to live in. But here you are, still, standing rooted to this spot wishing that we do not have to move. You are scared the feelings you have right now, in this moment, sometime in the future. But let me tell you this girl, take the step forward and make your own path. I will still be standing here side by side along you. I will drag you back to your path whenever you stray away. Just take the first step and let time allow you to choose where do you want to go next. I will forever be here supporting you, till the I die.
- Dad"
“Everybody is just acting to be someone they’re not when they’re out there in the world, afraid of what others and most importantly the society thinks about them. Some has acted for almost their whole life till the point they lost themselves.”
She gazed far away, lost in her train of thoughts again, but one simple sentence from a certain person brought her gaze back to the present.
we need an emergency fake dash in case any of our relatives suddenly demand to see what we do on tumblr
like you log in with the password “parent alert” and it takes you to a dash that’s just the wisdom of confucius and new yorkers dissing olive garden
we should have that
Done. Email: allfandomsmatter@gmail.com Password: parentalert Username: helpsomeonescoming Use it well. Lets blast it so everyone can use it. Good luck.
