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"I miss you. I do." She whispered over the phone.

"But if I spend all of my time waiting for you, whole seasons will pass without me noticing, and you may be beautiful, but you will never be more beautiful than the first snowflakes of winter or the summer light cascading through the windows."

"I could wait for an eternity if only I knew you were coming," she said, "But time is precious, and darling you are not worth the spring blossoms. You are not worth the autumn leaves."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #39 (via blossomfully)

0:12am

The eyeliner streaks on my face make me look a bit like the joker. I don’t mind this particularly. Maybe now people will stop asking if I’m okay.

0:54am

It’s raining outside. I think perhaps even the skies are crying for you. Can you hear them?

1:38 am

I threw that bear you gave me across the room and one of his button eyes fell off. I think that broke my heart more than you leaving.

2:46am

My mother says she is concerned for my mental health. I am laughing, a little too loudly, and telling her I am fine. I don’t tell her I am worried too.

3:10am

I played my music a little too loudly and woke the entire house. I’ve been told to get a grip. This song reminds me of you.

4:17am

I am exhausted, but not from sleep deprivation. I am exhausted from feeling too much and not feeling enough. My lungs are collapsing and I wish I could stop clutching at empty spaces as though they were your hands.

5:49 am

I have so much left to tell you and the walls are terrible listeners. But at least they won’t leave. Come to think of it, they are better listeners than you ever were.

6:13 am

It’s almost light. I am going to watch the sunrise by myself and perhaps today I won’t feel so pathetic. Perhaps this is me finally getting over you. Yeah. You never deserved me anyway. Screw you.

7:45am

Well, that was a stupid thought. Come back. Please come back. I swear we can start over and pretend this never happened. We can do everything again and this time it will work, I promise.

8:00am

Oh god. You’re not coming back are you?

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #36 (via blossomfully)

Do not write poems
about my lips.
Two soft slivers of peaches
created for you
and you alone
to kiss.
Omit the fact that they are
fire-blown
and spit bullets.

Do not write poems
about my hips.
Thick flesh
devours you.
Please.
They break for sons,
bend for daughters,
I hold a universe of my own
between them.

Do not write poems
about my hands.
Do not tell fools
they were molded
perfectly
to fit into yours.
You will bend your fingers
to interlace with my
unmoving mountains.

Do not write poems
about me,
do not inspire myths
to defend my honor
or inspire my femininity.

I am more
than your simple
uninspired
words.

Michelle K., Do Not Write Poems… (via michellekpoems)