It’s a terrifying thing, the way love can stop and start without any warning.
Without any sign.
And maybe that’s why I’m so inclined to keep my walls up and to guard my heart from what always seems to be an inevitable disaster.
You see, the foundation of my walls were built by hundreds of broken promises.
Thousands of lies being laid brick by brick.
Glued together with late night tears at each crevice.
Cracks once formed from love are now filled in with glue composed of empty words and countless heartaches.
They line what now seems to he an impenetrable wall around my heart.
Theres signs of damage.
And maybe, maybe it’s you.
It’s you with the hammer slamming me with honest words and affection that I deserve.
Perhaps you’re the one with the chisel chipping away the glue with kindness and sincerity, slowly breaking away these tear soaked bricks one by one, until there’s nothing left but an unguarded heart for you to call home.
You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep.
And I don’t believe you when you tell me my voice is your favorite sound.
Not with a voice like yours.
Your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee and burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you, but how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers, so if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours, they would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors, and very bad at telling people how I feel.
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March.
And even though I’m sick of winter, I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard.
I think somehow I already knew that our love wouldn’t come easy.
Loving you is like opening your favorite book, only to realize it’s not in a language you know.
I want to get lost in you.
I want to read you from front to cover. I want my heart to race at your table of contents, knowing that I have so much to look forward to.
I want to memorize your chapters and lose myself in your sentences.
I want to find every mistake and then memorize them so I can tell you even more things I love about you.
But open books aren’t always so open.
You, are a book written in a language I don’t quite understand.
Though you display your pages fully, I can’t make your letters form the sentences I need to become part of your story.
But I would be anything for you.
I may not understand you but I would become the bookmark that reminds you where you are when you get lost.
I will be the binding that holds you together when you find yourself falling apart.
And someday, maybe you’ll write a new edition of yourself, one that is in our own language of love.
A story of us.
But I love you
so much more
than just to the moon
It’s so strange that autumn is so beautiful; yet everything is dying.(via impactings)
why hasn’t the scientific side of tumblr responded to this yet guys we are waiting here
When your hair soaks up water, the overall density of your hair increases. This increase in density causes your hair fibers to be arranged more tightly, which allows less light to shine through your hair fibers.
shine bright like less dense hair fibers